Chapter Text
The interview ended before it even began properly. A long list of requirements hung on the website like a protective charm to ward off people like me. But who’s stopped by difficulties when you’re broke and the only item in the fridge is moldy cheese that never quite made it to the “gourmet” stage? It hadn’t stopped me, just as it hadn’t stopped me the previous eighty-six times. “You’re not the right fit,” “You don’t have experience,” “Twenty-five years old? I’m not sure you know much in this field.” What used to be my mother’s pride—my energy engineering degree—was shredded every time by the reality of job hunting.
“No, I don’t have experience,” I said immediately, knowing that was the end of this day.
The woman across from me lowered her gaze to the documents in front of her, inspecting my nearly empty resume. Silence annoyed me more than rejection. What was she reading? I stretched my stiff shoulders and settled back in my seat. “We’ll give you a call,” went through my mind right away. Oh no, I knew it was more like, “Very nice resume, but we’re looking for someone with experience… Would you consider janitorial work?” I raised my brows just thinking about it.
“Alright. You can start tomorrow.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your pass will be ready tomorrow morning; you can pick it up at the reception,” she replied coldly.
I glanced at my empty resume, then at her, as if to ask, “What the heck?” But I was ushered out of the building as quickly as I’d been accepted to work there.
▾
The skyscraper overhead seemed endless. The morning sun was hidden somewhere behind it, leaving me in the shadow of this industrial grandeur. Or maybe it was just vanity. I’d always wondered why it was so prestigious to work in a giant glass building among other glass buildings in the city center.
Along with my access card, the guy at reception handed me a packet with a uniform and directed me to the employee entrance, where I found the locker room. So I undressed. A white shirt, black slacks, and a jacket. Was this like “Men in Black”? Black shoes and even a tie that somehow tied perfectly the first time. The most curious items in the packet were the underwear and socks. Only extreme perfectionists dress all employees in identical underwear. So, where did I end up?
The black suit fit my body like it was tailored for me, and I felt like it was made just for me. Even the shoes, which, like all factory-made shoes, should’ve been tight on my wide feet, fit comfortably. I was seeing these clothes for the first time, but had they seen me before? “I wonder if the underwear fits as perfectly as the pants…” I quickly shook my head to discard the thought. How did they know my measurements, and could they have tailored a whole suit overnight? How odd.
▾
The first problem I encountered at my new job was the elevator. It had no buttons, no slots for them, not even indicators of where it was going. When I stepped in, it just moved, and, as expected, took me where it needed to go. Where it needed to go. Because I had no clue in those early days where I was.
This became the second issue for my mind, which was used to having control over its surroundings. I didn’t know where I was. I wasn’t even sure if the elevator brought me to the same place each day; sometimes, it would only travel for a few seconds, while other times, it kept me in its metallic confinement for several minutes. Plus, the strict ban on bringing any personal items meant I couldn’t “mark” my location, and every morning, the cleaning crew put everything neatly in its place before work hours began.
Identical offices, identical suits on all employees, and equally terrible coffee on every floor. That was my initial impression. And I don’t mean the coffee—it’s still terrible.
The third surprise was the people, my supposed coworkers. Or…who were they? Every day, I saw different people, all busy doing something. The office always looked busy: some were rushing around with folders of documents, others tapped vigorously on keyboards that looked prehistoric, and some, like me, seemed to have no idea what they were doing there.
The last, and most important, surprise was the entire concept of my new job. The website had only listed: “Secretary’s Assistant.” And as I learned from others, everyone around was also a “Secretary’s Assistant.” No joke, that’s a whole department of people whom I counted by different faces—more than three hundred.
Where was the secretary we were all supposed to be assisting? I had no idea, and the question faded as soon as I received a cash advance that first morning.
▾
Two years in the army had taught me to follow any orders without the interference of common sense. So that’s what I started with.