Fiction

When I went for my interview at InterCo. Loans I followed a gray-jumpsuited man down the long hallway that led to the door that led to Reception. He was carrying a rug. The three of us squeezed through the door (him, the rug, then me) in a confused and cumbersome dance. The receptionist said “Doreen?” and he said “Yes,” and she looked apologetic and I followed him because I was to have my interview with the woman named Doreen.

—

I’m not really sure what I’m doing here. I’ve been here almost two weeks now—so, about nine days, roughly 72 hours—and I can’t let myself get comfortable. I’m in the wrong ecosystem, this is such foreign territory, these people, I can’t relate, I can hardly breathe—

“Hon, could you fax these for me?”

I will not. Never.

“Sure.”

— it’s like they’re one species, I’m another. I’m not in my element. I have no room to flourish. I have no idea how to send a fax.

-

What I DO know about InterCo. Loans:

1. It consists of a bunch of scanners, a handful of photocopiers, hundreds of computers, and too many fax machines. Of this, I personally use one scanner, one photocopier, one computer and, if I can help it (and I think I can), zero fax machines.

2. Over 400 people work here, in this one building. That’s 400 people who walk through one set of doors every morning, 400 who walk out every night. (When I walk down the street, I’m wondering how many coworkers I’m passing. When I lock my apartment door on my way out, I’m wondering if the man down the hall doing the same thing is headed for the same place as me. When I’m at a stop light, I figure everyone turning left with me could only be going where I’m going. Anyone. It could be anyone.)

Of these people, I know two: myself, and Doreen. Which brings me to my next point.

3. It is home to Doreen, who, out of all 400 InterCo. employees, may very well be the most thrilled to be here. And so it would follow (naturally) that Doreen is my supervisor.

Things Doreen loves:

1.) Heart-shaped post-it notes
2.) Baking “treats” for the office (Brownies. Lemon bars. The like.)
3.) Inter-Company Loan Requests
4.) Sanitizing, things that are sanitized, people who offer to sanitize
5.) Rugs. Oh god, the rugs.

What I DO NOT know about InterCo. Loans:

1. What it does, i.e. what its purpose is, i.e. why we are all working here, Monday through Friday. Nine to five.
And I don’t want to know. I refuse to know, actually. The more I know, the more I am connected to this place. I will close my eyes and cover my ears; I will kick; I will scream; I will refer to it only as InterCo. Loans and never as ICL because ICL is an acronym and acronyms are chummy. And the fax machine—I am dedicated, I’ll do whatever it takes, I’ll have to use the bathroom every time someone asks (“Tom, could you send this fax?” “Oh, you know, I was about to run to the bathroom, so…”)—I refuse to learn how to use the fax machine.

“New rug!”

Oh god. I’m much too busy right now, surely you can see that, look at my posture, I’m clearly immersed in scanning these documents, I’m in the zone, I mustn’t be bothered—

“Tom, new rug!”

I didn’t hear that, see, my brow is furrowed, I’m squinting, you can see that what I’m doing requires immense concentration and certainly no disruptions, maybe you should—

“Tom? Would you mind giving me a hand, sweetie? I have a feeling this is the one!”

Since I’ve started working here, five rugs (five!) have made their ways into this office; five rugs have been examined, scrutinized, felt up, and judged; five rugs have gone back to where they came from. But that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

Apparently, Doreen has been in search of the perfect rug since long before I started here. So, I don’t just scan and photocopy and avoid the fax machine,; I help Doreen haul in and unroll rugs. She tries to make me feel included, like I have a say in the decision (even though it’s clear that I am not and I do not). But I refuse to take part in the charade. I’ve made it my personal goal to get through this job without having ever stated any kind of opinion about any rug. That, and the fax machine thing. It’s actually a pretty fun challenge; by now I am beautifully primed by past Rug Exchanges, and I have gained the tools needed to handle all future Rug Exchanges with awe-inspiring ease.

The latest:

Rug Exchange #6: New Rug that Doreen Feels May Be The One

[Doreen and I have just unrolled rug. She dissects rug with eyes, fingers tap cheek, hand rests on hip. I stand opposite her, hands on hips, weight shifting awkwardly from leg to leg. I look anywhere but at rug.]

“Hmmm….”

“ – ”

“It’s a bit shaggy…”

No. Never.

“…don’t you think?”

I will not.

“A little shag is okay, but you hit a point where it’s unprofessional, you know? Do you think we’ve crossed that line?”

We? No. But you… “It’s a fine line.”

“Right, it really is….”

“Fiiine line….”

“And the color…”

Bring it on.

“…how do you feel about the color?”

“You know that’s funny, because I’ve been meaning to ask you how you feel about the color.”

“You know, I don’t know! I like the contrast, but at the same time it’s not very mellow, and I’m very mellow, and I think mellow might work better for an office environment, you know?”

“Mmmm….”

“Hmmm….”

“Alright, well I’m going to go eat lunch.”

“Oh, of course, right. Thanks for your help, darling.”

“Sure. You bet.”

fin