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FIRST PLACE
The Interview
By Kathy Altman
King George, Virginia
“Miss, can you help us, please?” Dana
turned from locking her car door to see two men approaching.
She fisted her keys in her right hand, poking one key
out from between two fingers, and dipped her left shoulder
to let the leather strap of her bag slide down her
arm. She twisted the strap around her hand and braced
herself, ready to gouge out an eye with one hand and
swing a makeshift blackjack with the other.
As the men neared, Dana decided they weren’t
approaching with intent to harm and allowed herself
to relax slightly. One man appeared to be in his forties,
the other in his early thirties. The older man was
slimmer, with graying hair cut close to his head. He
wore crisp chinos, a tight gray tee shirt, and clogs.
His hands moved gracefully and continuously as he spoke
to his companion. The younger man, who didn’t
say much but frequently nodded his head, had thinning
blonde hair and a huskier build in black jeans and
a matching tee that were at least one size too small.
The two men stopped a few feet from Dana’s car.
“We’re a little lost here.” The older
man spoke out of a self-deprecating smile, moving his
hands
with a flourish, his palms facing out.
“Aren’t we all?” Dana smiled back
and sagged a bit with relief. A skirt and heels were
definitely
not combat-appropriate attire. “What is it you’re
trying to find?” She had deliberately arrived
a half hour early, so she didn’t mind sacrificing
a few minutes.
“We’re trying to find this fabulous restaurant
a friend of ours recommended.” The older man
flopped his hand at Dana. “He said the eggplant
is to die for. Of course, Jim here,” he indicated
his companion with a Vanna-like gesture, “left
the directions and the name of the restaurant at home.”
Jim rolled his eyes and struggled to push his hands
into his pockets. He gave up and settled for crossing
his arms over his muscled chest. “And why is
that, Stevie? Could it be I got distracted trying to
find you a clean shirt?”
Stevie bristled, then kissed at the air in Jim’s
direction as Dana cleared her throat and stowed her
keys in her purse. Stevie turned to Dana. “Sorry,
darling, we’re holding you up.”
“That’s okay, but I only have a minute.
Do you remember what street the restaurant is on?” The
men looked at each other and then back at Dana, shaking
their heads.
“Did your friend mention anything nearby? A landmark?”
Stevie bit his lip and shrugged, while Jim shook his
head disgustedly. “This is ridiculous. Forget
the damned eggplant. Let’s go to Bernie’s
and get some sushi.”
Stevie put a hand on his hip. “Tone, mister!”
Dana shifted her weight and glanced at her watch. “Look,
guys, I’d love to be able to help, but I’ve
got to get to my interview.”
“Interview!” Stevie looked Dana over. “You
do look very professional. Nice touch, that scarf.”
“Thank you.” She started to move away. “I
hope you enjoy your lunch.”
Jim reached for Dana’s hand. “Thanks so
much for trying to help. Good luck with your interview!”
“Thanks again.” Dana tugged at her hand.
“What job are you trying for, anyway?”
She tried to keep the impatience out of her voice. “Personal
assistant for the executive vice president.”
“Oooooh!” crowed Jim.
“Very nice!” nodded Stevie. “Hey,
listen.” He
moved to take her other hand. “Want some pointers?
We can give you plenty. Right, Jimbo?”
“Think before you speak,” Jim offered.
“Don’t be sassy.”
“Ask about bonuses.”
“And dental.”
Enough was enough. “OK, great, thanks, now I
really have to go.” Dana yanked her hands away
and turned toward the building’s entrance. “Thanks
for the advice. Take care!”
“Bye!” Jim gave a brief wave.
“Ciao!” Stevie blew her a kiss.
She looked back once to see Stevie and Jim standing
arm in arm beside her car, watching her walk away like
two proud parents sending their child off to her first
day at school. She snorted to herself in both amusement
and exasperation and checked her watch again. Thirty
extra minutes had shrunk to twenty.
She breathed a small sigh of relief as she entered
the lobby and stood for a moment, her eyes adjusting
to the dimness. She spied the office directory and
moved to scan it for Mr. Wilkes’s office number.
After a few moments, she became aware of agitated grumbling
nearby and turned her head. Down the hall, a man stood
in front of a soda machine, digging frantically through
his pockets. An ancient-looking dollar bill lay on
the floor in front of him. He delivered a half-hearted
kick to the machine and slowly bent to scoop his dollar
from the floor. Dana watched as he turned away, as
crumpled as the bill in his hand.
“God, he must be desperate,” she thought,
and reached for her wallet as she tried to remember
whether
or not she had any change. She didn’t, but she
did have some one dollar bills.
She made a quick note of Mr. Wilkes’s office
number and then hurried down the hall. “Excuse
me,” she said to the man. He was returning the
rejected dollar to his wallet. “I have some dollar
bills you’re welcome to try.”
He looked at her, startled, then gave her a tired smile. “Thanks.”
The machine accepted the first dollar bill she handed
him. It spit out a can and he held it like it was a
first place trophy. “Guess it takes a woman’s
touch.” He took the worn dollar out of his wallet
again and pressed it into her hand. “Thanks a
lot.” He backed away, holding the soda with both
hands.
Dana nodded after him and shoved the dollar into her
purse. Another glance at her watch warned her that
precious time was running out. Only fifteen minutes
left.
She glanced around for the elevator and caught it just
as the doors were closing. Smiling absently at the
elevator’s only other occupant, she pushed the
button for the fifth floor. She pulled at her suit
jacket and patted at her French twist.
“Sales meeting or job interview?”
Dana turned. The other woman lounged against the back
of the elevator, her hands on the rail behind her.
She was a tall, thin woman with short red hair and
friendly eyes. Her loose navy dress was not flattering.
“Job interview. I guess it’s too much to
hope for, that I don’t look as nervous as I feel.”
“Don’t worry, you look fine, really. If
you’re
not a little nervous, they think you don’t really
want the job. And they need you to need the job.” She
pulled away from the rail and held out her hand. “I’m
Nancy.”
“Hi, Nancy. I’m Dana.”
“Dana? Oh, so you’re here to interview
with Mr. Wilkes.”
“Yes, I am, how’d you know?”
“I work in Personnel. I help set up interviews.” She
glanced over at the elevator doors as they opened onto
the fifth floor. “You know, if you have a few
minutes, I’d be happy to give you some pointers.
Tell you some things you should know.”
Dana hesitated, her hand preventing the elevator doors
from closing. “What kind of things?”
“The how-to-get-ahead kind of things. Why don’t
we ride up a few more floors? It’s always a good
idea to get the lowdown on who’s who.” Nancy
winked. “You don’t want to start off on
the wrong foot by getting to know the wrong people.”
Dana didn’t like the sound of that. “Nancy,
I really appreciate the offer, but I am running a little
behind. I’d like to visit the restroom and catch
my breath before I meet Mr. Wilkes.”
Nancy shrugged and backed up to resume her slouch against
the elevator wall. “No problem. You’re
right, it wouldn’t do to be late. Good luck,
Dana.” The elevator doors closed on her salute.
Dana was in a long carpeted hallway. To her left was
the door leading to the stairwell, so she turned right
and moved briskly down the corridor, keeping her eyes
open for either the ladies’ room or Mr. Wilkes’s
office.
She found the restroom first and checked her watch.
Ten minutes to go. Her stomach lurched. She pushed
open the restroom door and looked about, smiling with
pleasure. The mirror, the sinks, and the commodes were
spotless. The walls were tiled in a light turquoise;
the counters and stalls a darker shade of the same
color. There was a couch in an alcove just inside the
door, and an end table with magazines fanned out on
its surface. Live plants adorned the sink spaces.
Dana reminded herself that she was pressed for time.
She was about to enter a stall when the restroom door
banged open and a heavy African American woman stormed
in. Seeing Dana, she pointed emphatically back at the
door and ordered, “Out! Get out of here!” Her
generous chest heaved.
Dana was unable to move. “I’m sorry?” she
squeaked.
“I said get out! I need to be alone.” The
woman stomped over to the couch and then turned back
to Dana.
She jammed thick hands onto ample hips and glowered.
Dana started slowly back toward the door. “Is
there another ...” She snapped her mouth shut
when the woman actually growled. Dana hurried out of
the restroom and stood for a moment, amazed. What else
could go awry?
She figured she had five minutes to get to another
floor and find another restroom. It was no longer an
option. She went back to the stairwell, bypassing the
elevator.
By the time Dana had located another restroom and then
returned to the fifth floor, it was five minutes past
one o’clock. Her heart thudding in her chest,
she scurried down the hallway, frantically searching
for Mr. Wilkes’s office. She finally came upon
it and, taking a deep breath, she went in.
A middle-aged woman with a mass of suspicious jet-black
hair looked up. “May I help you?”
“Yes, I’m Dana Bressett. I have a one o’clock
appointment with Mr. Wilkes.” The woman looked
at her, and then leaned to her left to look pointedly
at the wall behind Dana. Dana turned to see a large
wall clock that was unforgivingly accurate. Her cheeks
flooded with an uncomfortable warmth. She turned back
to the receptionist and smiled nervously. “I
apologize for being late.”
The receptionist planted her hands on her desk and
scooted her chair forward. She picked up her phone,
pressed a button, and listened without saying a word.
As she replaced the receiver, she pointed at the door
to Dana’s left. “He’s in a meeting.
Wait twenty minutes. Then you may go in.” Dana
backed up to sit in the chair by the door.
At half past one, Dana stood, swallowed nervously,
and opened the door the receptionist had indicated.
A thin man with black-framed glasses and untidy hair
more gray than red was closing an unmarked door that
led back out to the hallway. Dana caught a glimpse
of what she thought was the hideous navy dress that
Nancy had been wearing. Mr. Wilkes turned toward her
but did not raise his head. He continued to study a
sheaf of papers in his hand.
“Mr. Wilkes?” The man nodded once and finally
looked up. He was younger than Dana had expected. He
did not offer Dana a seat as she closed the door behind
her.
“No need for that, Ms. Bressett. You’re
late. The interview is over. Thank you for coming in.” He
strode over to the desk and pulled out his chair.
Dana gasped and her face reddened. “Excuse me?
I apologize for being late, Mr. Wilkes ...”
“No apologies necessary, Ms. Bressett. Please
close the door behind you.” He sat down, tossing
the stack of papers onto his desk.
Dana blinked. “Mr. Wilkes, there were unforeseen
circumstances ...”
“I’m aware of the circumstances, Ms. Bressett.
They were part of your interview.” He sighed
as she continued to gape at him. He peered at her over
the top of his glasses, and she felt like a schoolgirl
about to receive a scolding from the principal. Her
fingers wrapped convulsively around the straps of her
purse.
“The interview started the moment you got out
of your car.” He nodded at the papers on his
desk as Dana stared. “It’s all here. My
people are very thorough. It’s amazing what you
can learn about a person when they don’t know
they’re
being observed.” He tilted his head as he regarded
Dana.
“You handled yourself well in the parking lot.
You were patient and courteous. However, you could
have been
more forceful with Jim and Stevie. You apparently would
rather be polite than prompt.” He pulled the
papers back toward him and lifted the top page to scan
the one beneath it. “You displayed kindness by
helping Michael get his drink, but again, you risked
being late for your appointment. As for Nancy and the
elevator,” he eyed Dana almost approvingly, “you
did handle that well. Gossip has no place in our organization.
However,” he leaned back in his chair and dropped
the papers back onto his desk, “you let Cynthia
bully you out of using the restroom. Courtesy has its
place, Ms. Bressett, but I need a personal assistant,
not a patsy. Fortitude and self-possession are what
I’m seeking and what you’re lacking. Thank
you for coming in.” He flicked his fingers toward
the door and picked up the phone.
Dana shook her head in confusion and swelling anger.
It had all been a test. They had all been in on it.
Every one of them. Six against one. Seven, counting
Miss Personality in the outer office with the tangled
skein of black rug yarn on her head. A test. And she’d
failed. And they were probably all laughing at her.
She narrowed her eyes at the man on the phone with
his back to her. Was this also part of the test?
She cleared her throat and stepped forward. “Mr.
Wilkes.” She tried again when he didn’t
respond. “Mr. Wilkes!”
Slowly he swivelled in his chair to face her. He looked
at her expectantly while continuing to hold the phone
against his ear.
“Mr. Wilkes, this is most unjust. I demand that
you consider my qualifications before brushing me aside
so quickly. I was a mere five minutes late for our
appointment. You weren’t ready to see me, anyhow.
You were busy meeting with your co-conspirators.”
Mr. Wilkes raised his eyebrows as he spoke a few words
into the receiver and then set the phone aside. “I
know what you’re thinking, Ms. Bressett. And
no, the interview is no longer in progress.” He
paused. “However, I can see that you’re
a quick study. I’ll call you for a follow-up
if no other candidate meets our requirements. Fair
enough?”
The condescension in his voice was not reflected in
his face. Suddenly Dana’s ire and her enthusiasm
for the exalted position of executive personal assistant
drained out of her. She nodded abruptly and backed
quietly out of the office into the hallway.
She retraced her steps to the elevator, shaking her
head at herself and her extra half hour and her optimism
and her confounded good manners. She suspected she’d
appreciate this more once she’d retrieved her
sense of humor. Food would probably help. Nerves had
stripped her of her morning appetite, and it was now
just past two o’clock. Her lips formed a wry
smile as she stepped into the elevator. Perhaps she’d
try the sushi at Bernie’s.
Copyright (c) 2003 for the
author, all rights reserved. |
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