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Okay, so maybe that's a little dramatic, but in my defense, it kind of feels like it. I know the position I'm interviewing for is menial more or less, but it pays a hell of a lot better than my last job, and I'm pretty sure there are going to be like ten thousand applicants for it. Which means, I need to find some way to make myself stand out.
Climbing out of my car, I shut the door and check my reflection in the window one last time. Just to make sure I'm totally put together and on point today. I need to be at my best. Better than my best, if possible.
Satisfied that I don't have a hair out of place, I turn and leave the parking structure, walking across a parking lot beneath the warming rays of the sun sitting in a perfectly blue, cloudless sky. I'm feeling good. Optimistic. Either that, or I'm doing a really great job of fooling myself. It doesn’t matter, though – I feel confident heading into this interview.
“It's my job to lose,” I whisper to myself. “Mine – and nobody's going to take it from me”
As I approach the doors, they slide open and I step into the lobby of Frontline Technologies. Truthfully, I have no idea what they do other than provide cybersecurity services for companies, but I'm applying to be an administrative assistant, not a coder or technological wizard, so I'm hoping my working knowledge of the industry doesn't have to be extensive.
I step to the reception desk and give the warmest, least awkward looking smile I can manage to the woman sitting behind it.
“Emily Hall,” I announce in my most confident voice. “I have an appointment with Ms. Reynolds.”
The woman gives me a polite nod and looks at her computer screen, then returns her gaze to me.
“Of course,” she says. “Just have a seat over there and Ms. Reynolds will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you.”
I walk away and take a seat and do my best to avoid looking nervous. The lobby is done in what looks like marble tile and is sparsely furnished. Everything has a very sleek, modern feel to it. A little too modern and sparse for my liking, personally. It comes off a little bit cold to me. But then, I'm not going to be living here when – not if, but when – I land this job. Of course, it does make me wonder if the décor is a reflection of the company's owner. It makes me wonder if they're as cold and barren as the lobby of their office.
I give myself a little shake. When I'm nervous, my mind tends to wander and fixate on the strangest things. I have to resist the urge to pull out my phone and check my social media or read the news – something to distract myself. The last thing I want to do is appear unprofessional, though. If I'm sitting there playing on my phone, that's exactly what I'm going to look like.
It takes some effort, but I manage to sit there, completely still, until a door behind the reception desk opens and a tall, dark-haired woman steps out. She's wearing what looks like a designer pantsuit, black with an emerald-colored blouse beneath the jacket. She's got her hair pulled back into a long ponytail and her blue eyes are framed by dark-rimmed glasses.
I stand, swallowing hard as she walks across the lobby toward me. “Emily, I'm Lara Reynolds, it's nice to meet you.”
I shake her hand and put a smile on my face. I'm sure it looks more like a drunken grin. “Very nice to meet you as well, Ms. Reynolds.”
“Would you follow me please?”
Without waiting for a reply, she turns and heads back toward the door she came out of. As I pass the reception desk, the woman gives me a wink and an encouraging smile. Ms. Reynolds swipes her badge, then holds the door open for me.
I look around as I follow her through a room that's about as long as a football field. Private offices line either side of the room, and the middle is filled with the warren of cubicles we're cutting through. Phones are ringing and the muted buzz of conversation hangs in the air as we pass by. I can just feel the eyes on me as we go, and it only ramps up that nervous energy already coursing through me.
I feel like a woman making that final walk down the Green Mile and to the electric chair. All I need is for somebody to yell out, ‘dead man walking’, to complete the visual in my head.
I step into her office and she closes the door behind us. “Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you,” I say as I take the seat in front of her desk.
The tall, elegant woman glides around to her side of the desk and melts into her chair. I swear, she should be walking a runway in Paris or something, rather than spending her days as the HR manager. She picks up her tablet and calls up a few things on the screen as if to refresh herself with my resume.
As she does that, I take the chance to glance around her office and like her, it's very well put together. There's an elegance about the room that is clearly her influence at work. Like the lobby, though, it's sleek and modern, with a lot of glass, black, and chrome features. I see that she's tried to soften it somewhat with a few of her own personal touches and I think that helps smooth the rougher edges.
“You were in law school in New York,” she says, her eyes still fixed on her tablet, “but, you didn't finish. Why not?”
I don't have that listed on my resume, so to hear her rattle off those facts sends a jolt through me. I look at her, not knowing how in the hell she has that information. She finally looks up and gives me a gentle smile.
“It's standard procedure for us to do a light background on potentials,” she explains. “Because of the proprietary nature of our work, it's necessary for us to have as much information as we can if we're to come to an informed decision about new hires.”
While I understand why it's necessary, it still feels pretty invasive. But it's all part of the process, I know. I hate it, but there's nothing I can do about it. I hate it because for me, it's a personal embarrassment. I consider not finishing law school to be my greatest failure in life.
But what could I do? After my dad died and the creditors swooped in like fucking vultures and took everything – including my tuition fund – I didn't have the money to go back. Nor did I have the money to stay in New York. All I had – have, actually – is a condo in Arcadia. And thank God that's paid for already.
It's not my fault and yet, it still makes me feel like a big, fat loser.
I clear my throat as I take a second to gather myself. “After my father died, I was, unfortunately, unable to finish my education.”
