Four stubby digits steal around the edge of the elevator door and prevent it from closing. I'm tired. I'm hung over. I want to get out of the building and get a coffee and return the call of the first recruiter I've reached in a week who hasn't told me that I'm unhireable. I do not want to spend the next 45 seconds in an elevator with Ben.
The door shuts and he moves around behind me as the the car descends.
"Catherine's out sick?"
He is attempting to make eye contact in the polished surface of the door
"She's here. She's been on a conference call with Brenda for the last hour."
Brenda is our CEO who works from home overseas. Each of us is required to have two conferences with her per week. I have a double tequila at lunch every Tuesday and Thursday preceeding our appointed calls. At 67, Brenda is out of touch and possessed of three conversational tactics: condescension, ignorant insistence and self-important babbling. My first call with Brenda lasted over two hours. By minute 100 I had muted my phone and was banging my head on my desk. Catherine reprimanded me for this, stating that it was unprofessional in an open plan office. The following call I took to choking the receiver, which is apparently of an acceptable level of office decorum and was met with no resistance.
"Oh, poor Catherine. These things we must endure."
"Tell me about it. Being forced to engage in conversation with a colleague you hate is the worst"
The elevator stops. I exit before the door is fully open.
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