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Oh, so she’s my manager. I didn’t expect to meet my boss right away for some reason. I also expected the entire intern cohort would be meeting her together.
“I’m looking forward to working for you,” I say.
She cocks her head to the side, confused, but nods and leads the way through the glass doors. When she opens the door to what I assume is a corner conference room, I follow her in and try to discreetly push my bag into the corner.
“About the mistake...” she begins.
Thank goodness. I’m so grateful to be getting this all out in the open right away. I’ll accept whatever punishment they see fit for yesterday—a dock in pay, less-interesting projects to work on, desk in the basement, whatever. Truthfully, I didn’t do anything wrong. But, I’d rather stop walking on eggshells waiting to be called out and just get on with it.
“Yes, I’m so sorry. It was all my fault. I should have been clearer from the beginning,” I say.
“No, no, it was our mistake. We’re not given much information whenever we’re assigned to a VIP. But they’ve always been male in the past. We assumed Lee Yoo-Jin was a boy, since ‘Elijah’ was written—well, that’s no matter. It was an error. With what little detail we received about who you are and what your background is, we just tried our best. But this kind of mistake will never happen again. If you weren’t too troubled by it, we’d appreciate if you don’t bring it up to...” She leans in and gives me a knowing stare.
I give her a very unknowing stare back.
“To?” I ask. I’m not quite sure I follow.
“I assume your father is someone important in the company. Or possibly a grandfather? Sometimes it’s helpful if we know who we’re working for and with.”
“Oh, don’t worry. My dad would hate it if you tried to give me preferential treatment,” I try to explain. I don’t go into how all the executives who pull strings to get their kids into these programs irritate the heck out of him. My father finds privilege to be incredibly unfair.
Sunny Cho stitches her brows together, leaving a barely-there wrinkle in her otherwise flawless complexion. “Well, okay then. As it is, we’ve already gone about and fixed everything from our misunderstanding. A new wardrobe will be waiting for you when you get home. I have an outfit more...” she looks me over from top to bottom, “appropriate for today being brought in and it should arrive momentarily. I apologize, as I didn’t realize we would need hair and makeup to arrive this morning as well, but I’ll get on that.” She lifts her phone and begins barking orders to someone in Korean.
I run my hand along my head. I mean, I’m not glamorized like Sunny Cho is, but I kind of was in a hurry this morning escaping from luxury. Okay, so I messed up my bangs and didn’t quite trim them straight last week. But it’s hardly noticeable. When I make the effort, I think I present pretty impressively, if I do say so myself. And there’s no way I’m spending any money on some glam squad to do my hair and makeup. I’m an intern for goodness’ sake. What do they expect from me? They know how little their entry-level pay is, right?
“I really don’t need...” I start to say.
But Sunny is in damage-control mode and is not listening to, nor asking about my needs. I don’t want to question my manager, not on day one. But I also don’t want to be put in a situation I can’t handle, such as spending money to fit a visual expectation I don’t agree with. She didn’t even ask me what size I wear.
I think what I’ll do is wait for the other interns to arrive, see how they’re all dressed, and maybe we can approach the topic as a group with Sunny Cho. For now, I’ll keep my mouth shut. Since this whole mess began, whenever I’ve tried to question what’s been happening, I just get cut off like I have no idea what I’m talking about. And maybe I don’t. But I can’t be the only one who sees that something isn’t adding up here, can I?
“Your office has a view of the park,” she says. “Your laptop is all set up here. We were told you’re more comfortable on a MacBook vs a Microsoft-based machine, correct?”
I nod, because it’s true. But how did they know all of this? I don’t recall that being one of the questions on the application or any of my new hire paperwork I was given to fill out.
“Um, Ms. Cho? Where are the other interns?” I ask. My heart is pounding and I can hear it in my ears. I can’t be this scared to ask a simple question to my manager and expect to succeed this summer. Get a grip, Jessica.
“The interns? Well, I would suspect they’re going through orientation in the conference room on the lower level.”
“Oh my gosh, am I late for orientation? Shouldn’t we hurry? Or did you want me to just head down there on my own? I’m sorry, I was confused. I shouldn’t have expected you to direct me there. I’ll figure it out,” I say. I’m panicked, late, and unprepared. This is not how I wanted this day to go.
“Yoo-Jin-ssi, you won’t be joining the other interns. Your internship is in the Executive Training Program. This is a role reserved for someone connected to a company VIP such as yourself.”
VIP? Is she talking about my dad? Has he downplayed his role at Haneul Corp all this time? He always made it seem like he was unimportant, unappreciated. None of it makes any sense in my head. It doesn’t add up.
“If you’re ready, I can show you around the office. I’d normally wait until the new clothes got here as to present you in the best way possible. But since none of the executives are here yet, just the support staff, it should be fine.” Ms. Cho smiles at me as if all of these words aren’t meant to be jabs at my looks and presentation. And maybe they aren’t. But they sure feel like it.
I’m taken around on a tour of the forty-third floor. It’s all impressive and though everyone I meet is curious about who I am and what I’ll be doing as this executive training intern, they mostly just politely smile and go about their business.
“We have a cafeteria on the tenth floor. It’s for all employees, serving lunch and a light dinner. Mostly all Korean food, but some western options as well,” Ms. Cho tells me as she leads me back to the elevators. “I’ll show you that now before it gets busy.”
“Does Haneul have all the floors in this building?” I ask.
“No, we have the tenth for the cafeteria and the gym, and then we occupy from the thirty-second up to the forty-third floors.”
The elevator stops at the thirty-second floor. The door opens and a group of young people is waiting on the other side.
They all pile in the spacious elevator. It gets noticeably quiet when they see us and realize we’re riding together. Ms. Cho has an air of “I’m in charge” that exudes from her posture, her appearance, her vibe. No one says a word. I must look like her frazzled assistant or someone who is lost, clearly in the wrong elevator.
