Story: The Big Meeting

“Thanks for coming in,” she said, smiling and extending her hand.

“Pleased to meet you,” I said, trying to remember to look her in the eye and pump once as I shook.  I closed my hand too early over just her fingers and not her palm at a funny angle.  I’ve screwed it up already! I said to myself.

“Would you like anything?” she asked as we moved through reception towards the inner offices.  “Water, tea, coffee, a soft drink?”

“No, thank you very much,” I said, “I’m fine.”

“Great,” she said.  “Let’s see the basement first, shall we?”

“Oh,” I said.  “Alright, then.  May I ask why?”

“I’ll explain on the way,” she said.  “It’s sort of an odd thing about working here, it’s a little awkward, but I like to just get it out of the way up front.”

“Alright then,” I said again.  I just said that, I said to myself, and then, it doesn’t matter, people repeat themselves all the time.

“What was that?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing, sorry,” I said, and the elevator doors eased closed.

“As I was saying,” she said, and I thought, saying? saying what? I wasn’t listening and I missed something!  Wait, I’m still not listening and I’m missing more!  “...but I guess that’s just a working assumption, right?” she finished, and laughed politely.

I tried to force a chuckle, it came out loud and odd sounding, ending on a high note like a question.  My knees were getting shaky.  She didn’t seem to notice.

“So maybe you could start,” she said, “by explaining a little about what you think about the company so far.”  The elevator doors opened.

We stepped out into a half-lit corridor with exposed pipes emerging from the walls and a damp, musty smell.  

“This is fine,” she said to nobody.  She strode forward confidently and I followed, trying to make sure I didn’t put my shoes, which I’d just bought for the interview, in anything nasty. 

“Well,” I said, a little uneasily, “it seems like my existing experience would be a great fit for your team, and there’s clearly room for growth in a firm this size.”  I thought I could hear water dripping somewhere.

“That’s terrific,” she said, and halted suddenly and pulling a large key ring from somewhere.  We were beside a large rusty-looking metal door without a window or a visible knob.  None of the keys on the ring like they belonged to the twenty-first century.

She worked a large antique looking key into a keyhole I hadn’t seen in the dim light, and twisted it hard, from the shoulder; with a weirdly loud wrenching noise it turned.  

“That’s outstanding,” she said, again apparently to nobody.  She pulled the door open; it was enormous and moved slowly.  There was no light inside that I could see.

“Now,” she said with a smile, bringing her hands together with a clap, “please step inside here.”

I looked from her to the opening and back again sheepishly.

“Oh,” she said, looking embarrassed, “I’m terribly sorry, I forgot the lights.”  She reached over and threw an enormous switch, the kind from old movies that look like mouse-traps sized for raccoons with a broom handle glued on.  With a shower of sparks and a hissing crackle the light went on inside.  What it revealed was not encouraging.

The room was small, minuscule actually, about half the size of the elevator we’d rode down in.  I was forced to conclude that the door opened outwards because if it went the other way it’d hit the rear wall.  Actually no, because from the rear wall projected a long bench or shelf, running the length of the room and apparently made out of stainless steel.

“Now,” she said, smiling and bringing her hands together with a clap exactly as she had a minute before, “if you’ll please step inside and have a seat.  Ah, here’s Mr. Williams.”

Something was coming down from the corridor’s opposite end.  There was the sound of something groaning and hissing, or maybe of something rolling and squeaking.  At first I couldn’t get a good look at it in the lights, but then he moved in and out of the glow from the next-to-nearest exposed bulb in the ceiling and I made it out: a very short vaguely vulture-esque man wearing a white lab coat and wheeling a low cart towards us.  I couldn’t make out what was on the cart, but it was very shiny.

“If you’ll be kind enough to take off your jacket and shirt,” she said, still smiling, “we can get started.”

Mr. Williams was leering with a metallic-toothed grin as he closed the last distance between us.  All the things on the cart looked very very sharp.

I turned to run, stumbled, my legs went out from under me, I kicked violently against the sheets and woke up.

I panted and rolled over.  The room was completely dark.  I wanted to turn on all the lights and make sure Mr. Williams and his shiny sharp cart weren’t both smiling in the closet, but I suppressed the urge.  Instead I looked at the clock: three a. m.  I had barely gotten to sleep about an hour before.  I would be a wreck by the time I actually got in tomorrow.

I got up, used the bathroom, got a drink of water, and went back and laid down again.  I’ll never get back to sleep now, I thought as I closed my eyes.  The pillow was surprisingly comfortable though.

“Thanks for coming in,” she said, smiling and extending her hand.

“Pleased to meet you,” I said, trying to remember to look her in the eye and pump once as I shook.  I closed my hand neatly over her palm and pumped once. Nailed it! I said to myself, feeling oddly relieved.  Probably all downhill from here, though.

“Would you like anything?” she asked as we moved through reception towards the inner offices.  “Water, coffee?  A snack?”

“No, thank you very much,” I said, “I’m fine.”

“Great,” she said.  “You don’t mind if I do, do you?” she added, gesturing towards the kitchenette as we passed it.

“Oh,” I said, “of course not, go ahead.”

“Thanks,” she said, with a confidential air, “I had to skip lunch because of the last guy, and they’ve got me interviewing two others after you!”  She opened a cupboard and rummaged, came out with one of those little rectangle packets of six orange-cracker-and-peanut-butter.  “Sure you don’t want one?” she asked, waggling it between her fingers at me.

I forced a half-smile, “No,” I said, “Thanks very much, I appreciate it but I’m good.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, crinkling the packet open and cramming one into her mouth.  “Soh,” she said with her mouth full, and some crumbs landed on my shoes, “weow don oo darh, oh akushme,” she said, and swallowed.  “Why don’t you start by explaining a little about what you think about the company so far.”

“Oh,” I said, trying not to stare, “sure.  Well, it seems like my existing experience would be a great fit for your team, and...“ she put two more crackers in  her mouth without breaking eye contact, and I soldiered on, “and there’s clearly room for growth in a firm this size.”

She nodded encouragingly, her cheeks full of crackers and her eyes half-closed, like a pinched chipmunk’s.

“Plus I’m broke,” I added lamely.

What? I demanded to myself.  What was that?  You don’t say that in a job interview!

She laughed, and more crumbs landed on me.

“Who isn’t, right?” she said, “alright let’s get going, I’m this way.”  She strode confidently past me out of the kitchenette and I followed.  

How did I recover from that? I thought.  Maybe I’m already out of the running, so it doesn’t matter.  I guess I can’t screw up, then.  The notion was not quite as comforting as it might have been somehow.

“Now,” she began, and I told myself to shut up and listened attentively.  “We have a slightly unorthodox first round of interviews here, something our friends in the private sector cooked up that we’re testing out for them.  Through here, please.”

We hunched through a weirdly low-topped door, about shoulder-high on her, and through to another identical office hallway.

“Here,” she said, “is Williams,” and she gestured to a metal panel on the wall full of lights.

“Pleased to meet you,” said a voice that I only barely realized was computerized.

“Nice to meet you,” I said falteringly.

“Williams will be handling things from here,” she said.  “If you hit any trouble just holler and I’ll drag you out.”  She smiled like something was funny, and I found I couldn’t smile back.  “See you in a bit.” 

“Oh,” I said, she was already walking away.  “Thank you.”  If she heard me she didn’t say.

I turned to the metal panel with the lights on it.  The lights flashed, but nothing else happened.

“Um,” I said.  I looked up and down the corridor.  “Wilson?”  Nothing. 

I brought my hand up slowly and waved it in front of the panel.

I looked up and down the corridor again.

“Please follow the green lights,” said Williams suddenly, and a bottle-colored bulb I hadn’t noticed before flashed in the ceiling overhead.  Another off to the right flashed as well.

“Uh,” I said uncertainly, “sure thing, thanks.”

“Please follow the green lights,” said Williams again.  The lights were flashing faster now.

“Right,” I said, and walked towards the second bulb.  Immediately the first went out, and a third further down the corridor came on.  I followed them leap-frog down to the end of the hallway, where there was a t-junction, and saw them go left, still up on the ceiling.

“How far should I--” I said, but realized I’d already left the panel of lights far behind, so I kept on walking.

I turned right, turned left, turned right again.  The lights began to speed up.  I turned left.

Is it taking me in circles? I thought.  This floor can’t be this big.  I turned right and was in a corridor apparently infinitely long.  What is --what?  I thought, seeing the lights speed up and breaking into a jog, then a run.  It must be a mirror or something, I thought.  There’ll be a turn.  But there wasn’t and the lights kept going faster.  I started sprinting.  They started pulling ahead.

“Please follow the green lights,” said Williams from nowhere, his polite half-clipped voice booming all around me.

“I am,” I said, panting.

“Please follow the green lights,” boomed Williams.

“I am!” I shouted.

I thought I saw them slowing down.  I think they’re slowing down, I thought, pushing myself as hard as I could go in my awkward new shoes.  I looked down to see if they were alright for some reason, and suddenly the floor swung open beneath me and I fell into darkness.

I screamed as I fell, and saw something orange and red coming up towards me.  Then it was a lot of somethings and there were blues, and then all colors, and I saw it was balls - plastic balls, like at an indoor playground.  Thousands of them, the space below was the size of a football field, a lake,  I was weirdly happy to see them, but just before I landed I kicked my legs suddenly against the sheets and woke up.

I groaned and rolled over.  The room was completely dark.  I felt like my eyelids had been attached with rusty hinges.  I looked at the clock: five a. m.  I had barely an hour left before I had to get up.  I would be a wreck by the time I actually got in tomorrow.

I tossed and turned, and thought about turning on the fan.  It seemed to be a hundred degrees in the little bedroom, and there was no comfortable position.  At last I decided to force myself to stay still.  I started to feel thirsty, but decided this was just a minor rebellion and I could wait it out.

It didn’t work very well.  I got thirstier.  I counted numbers in my head.  I recited as many lines from movies as I could.  I tried to remember how to do trigonometry.  I was pretty sure I had cosine backed into a corner when I realized my pillow was finally getting comfortable.

“Thanks for coming in,” she said.

“Pleased to meet you,” I said, extending my hand.  She didn’t put out hers, or smile.

“Let’s cut through the formalities,” she said, turning her back on me and walking towards the inner office.

“Could I have a bottle of water?” I asked.  My throat was suddenly parched.

“If you want refreshment,” she said imperiously, “you’ve got to earn it.  This way.”

She turned the corners of the office hallways sharply, left, right, left.  They’ve really pack a lot of hallway into this floor, I thought, wondering when I’d see something that wasn’t another turn.

“Here we are,” she said, and we entered a small dimly lit room.  “This is my assistant Mr. Williams,” she said, gesturing to a timid-looking young man in a short-sleeved shirt and a tie sitting at a low desk.  It was actually a very small desk I saw, almost like it had come from an elementary school, but somehow this guy’s knees were still under it.

“Now then,” she said, bringing her hands together with a little clap, which for some reason made my blood go cold, “I’d love to talk about how you feel your existing experience would be a great fit for our team, and how there’s clearly room for growth in a firm this size, but frankly I’d rather get this settled right now so I can go to lunch.  I’ve got six others to see today and I’m not going to waste all my time on you.  Williams, take over.”

With that she strode from the room.

“Have a seat please,” said Williams timidly.

I sat in a tiny chair opposite the desk.  My knees were significantly higher than my bottom.  The room was dim and lit with little track light spots in the ceiling, like a museum exhibit, except they were only on Williams and me.

“Now then,” said Williams, and his voice cracked.  I realized he was terrified.  “Why don’t we start with your reference list, and then we can go from there.”  There was something odd about the way he talked, and then I realized he sounded like a kid in school reading from the textbook for the class.  In fact when I looked I could see that he had a paper in front of him on the tiny desk that he was reading from.  I also saw the sweat pouring from his forehead and realized he was terrified.

“Hey,” I said, raising a hand in a friendly clearing-the-air gesture, “it’s okay, man.  You don’t have to be nervous, I’m a regular guy.  Just like you, right?”

“Reference list, please,” he said, holding out his hand but not looking at me.

I fumbled in the little folder I had in my inside pocket, somehow it had shrunk to the size of a postage stamp.  I opened it like a damp little valentine card.  Inside was a small piece of paper with a single letter printed on it, “F”.

“Uh,” I said, holding it out to him, “here you go.”

He took it, and it was a normal-sized piece of paper all of a sudden.  He started reading over it.

“This is fine,” he said, still reading from his sheet.  “Can I see your other references now please.”

“What other references?” I asked.

“Your reserve references,” he said.

“I don’t have any other references,” I said after a moment.  “That’s the lot.”

“What is your real name?” said Williams, as if jumping on to the next point.

“What?” I said.  “It’s on my resume, and on that list I just gave you,” I said.  He was looking away from me.  I repeated my name to him.

“Your other name,” he said.  “Your real name.”

“I don’t have any other name,” I said.  “That’s the real one.”

“How much cash do you have on you,” he said, again as if jerking onward to the next bullet point on his list.

“What?” I said.

“Cash,” he said, and now he was staring into my eyes, almost pleadingly.  “Cash.  How much cash do you have on you.”

“Uh,” I said, flopping my billfold out of my pocket; it was awkward because now I was sitting in a tiny desk, with one of those half-tables bolted to the arm, I couldn’t remember when, but I supposed my tiny chair had turned into it.  I looked through my wallet which seemed full of receipts and business cards and coupons and postage stamps and, for some reason, flattened raisins.

“I’ve got eighteen,” I said, “no, nineteen dollars.”

“Give it here, please,” he said, holding out his hand.  I put the damp bills in his hand, then saw that there was a raisin stuck to one.  

“Oops, sorry, there’s a raisin,” I said, and tried to pick it off.

“Don’t touch me,” he nearly shrieked, and dashed all his papers to the floor.  

I got up and started trying to pick them all up, both of us shuffling on our hands and knees in the dark.  He was muttering “I just can’t do this, I just can’t do this,” over and over.  When we had all the papers in a couple of stacks, he took his and I took mine and we sat down again.

He looked at his topmost paper, then looked at me.

“What’s the next step?” he said.

“What?” I said, and I looked and saw that we’d switched papers, and now I had his list and he had mine.

“Uh,” I said, looking down the list in my hand.  “Why didn’t you get me the present I wanted?” I read from the next line.

“I can’t answer that,” he said, looking anxious.

“Uh,” I said, fumbling down the list.  “What did you see when you looked through the window?”

“I can’t answer that,” he said.

“What kind of questions are these?” I asked.

“What comes next?” he demanded, still terrified.

“Listen man,” I said, “I don’t get what’s going on here, but it’s going to be okay.  Look at me.”

He looked at me.

“It’s going to be okay.”

He looked relieved.

“What’s next?” he said.

I skipped down to the bottom of the list.

“Thanks for coming in,” it said, so I said that.

“My pleasure,” he said, looking relieved, and he got up and left.

“Ready for the next one?” she said, appearing like a giant in the too-bright doorway?”

“Huh?” I said, and woke up.

Daylight was pouring through the windows.  I looked at the clock.

My interview had started half an hour before, without me.  I jumped, started to get up, then stopped.  I thought for a moment, and shook my head, and laid back down, rolled over and went back to sleep.