Five women stood in front of the reception desk, whispering.
Waiting.
I pulled open the glass door framed in stained pine. I walked in bashful and humble, glancing at each woman only when they introduced themselves.
“Sue,” spat the woman at the edge of the group. Her arms remained crossed and one shoulder slumped lower than the other. The sour expression plastered across her sunburnt face made it clear she would have rather been anywhere else at that moment. She hated me at first sight. “Pleased to meet you,” she muttered, and then checked her watch and sighed.
Next was Melanie, a plump thing with tight-fitting gold rings adorning every one of her thick fingers. No doubt that cholesterol-choked heart of hers struggled to keep all three hundred-pounds of her upright. Radiating off her was the stench of menthol poorly masked by the perfume I smelled from the elevator. I fully expected her to keel over before my time as an intern came to an end.
Square in the middle stood Sharon, who was a hair over six feet tall. She reminded me of the matriarch Emolia, who died more than a hundred years ago. Sharon’s ebony skin glistened with sweet-smelling moisturizer. The woman was put together, especially compared to the old Christmas sweaters and gaudy jewelry her coworkers wore.
Standing knee-high beside her was Erica, a red-haired dwarf with a heavy brow that casted a shadow over her eyes. Her warm smile beamed when she boldly waddled over and shook my hand. “Nice to meet you,” I told her as her stubby digits engulfed only the top halves of my fingers.
At the end was Amy, whose massive perm stood out as much as her plastic glasses and ruffled white blouse. “I’ll show you around,” she said after the introductions had ended. She strolled toward the door with a large foggy glass window and held it open. “After you.”
The door latched once it closed behind us.
“She’s pretty,” whispered Melanie once she thought we were out of earshot.
“She’s pretty now,” Sue began. “Except my niece looked just like that – and by the time she turned thirty, she looked fifty. She better use those looks while she has them.”
“Somebody sounds jealous,” said Sharon.
Sue smacked her lips. “Shiiiiiet. I’ve seen a hundred girls like her – all of them tramps. That sort of lifestyle wears on you. See the way she moved her hips when she walked? Pure whore. I’ll bet a paycheck she’s still drunk from last night’s party. God knows who she woke up next to this morning – I’m sure she doesn’t.”
“You don’t know her like that,” Sharon shot back. “You can’t go around talking about the girl. What if she hears you? The last thing you need is another write-up.”
“Let them write me up,” scoffed Sue. “We made a mistake giving that one a chance, you’ll see. I give it a week before she’s trying to get in the governor’s pants. Knowing that slob, he’ll have no problem with that.” She cleared her throat. “I’m done talking about this bullshit – it’s time to get back to the real world, ladies.”
Paintings decorated the walls and boxy end tables were positioned at every junction. Amy showed me the maze of small offices, each belonging to a member of the governor’s cabinet. Though all were empty of people, the soft overhead lights remained on. The carpet was dark gray and thin, with beautiful wooden beams and plastic molding adorning the ceiling. Then I was led to the furthest corner of that dreadful office, past the corridor filled with beige file cabinets and past the bathrooms. Once the air began to smell of mildew and dust, we found a desk covered in soda cans. The cheap cloth on the rickety chair had worn through so badly that particleboard poked through. I sat. The floor, apparently forgotten by the custodial staff, was laden with crumbs, staples and paperclips.
Amy left without saying a word.
Once she turned the corner, I began sifting through the drawers. The slide out tray under the keyboard had nothing but rubber bands, paper clips and highlighters. “How am I supposed to work without a keyboard?” I grumbled aloud, though I was up for the challenge. The drawer on the left contained a notepad with character doodles. Judging from the big curls, Amy must have been the woman getting taken from behind by the donkey with a human head. “Not bad.” I smiled at some of the other representations of the ladies around the office. Some were humorous, like the drawing of Melanie as a pig plowing through a food market, devouring everything in sight.
I found a pamphlet and read and re-read it in five minutes. My responsibilities amounted to no more than filling the coffee pot and doing anything asked of me. Since the coffee already was made, I spent the next hour cleaning up that mess of a desk.
Once everything was organized and cleaned, I turned on the computer. Within moments, a message from Amy popped up reminding me to check the coffee. I walked into the break room and sure enough, the pot sat empty. “Who empties a pot without filling it?” I asked aloud, though no one was around to hear. I spent my first day filling it every two hours. On the way home that night, I stopped at a home furnishings store and purchased the largest carafe they sold. That way, I would have to make that terrible tasting sludge less often.
It took only two weeks for the governor to notice me. The portly bastard was waddling to the elevator when he saw me pass by. I glanced his way and smiled. He was still staring when the elevator doors almost closed on his nose. We saw each other again in the break room during his intermission from the Senate session. He wiped the cream cheese off his hand and onto the back of his pants, and introduced himself. “Anthony McKinstry,” he said and then took my hand into his sweaty palm.
I wondered at that moment how a man without a neck wore a tie. It was that thought that made me smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, governor. I’m Janelle Holland.”