Abby wasn’t a stranger to temping. She’d done it on and off during grad school. Yet as she walked into the building of her first temp job in five years, her heart blipped and skipped like a glitchy recording.
She gave her name to the security guard on the ground floor who directed her to the thirty-fifth floor. As soon as she left the elevator she was met by Gretchen, a blond woman with a grim smile, and asked to take a chair at the reception desk, a forbidding sarcophagus of black marble.
“We don’t need a receptionist, the security on the ground floor registers our guests. But Mr Granger likes the way a receptionist looks at the elevator entrance. All our visitors are greeted by one of the staff, such as myself, so you mustn’t talk to any of them. Nor should you talk to staff. It’s fine to nod if you make eye contact with someone, but we don’t want any other chitchat.”
Abby was taken aback. “Wait, you want a receptionist who doesn’t talk to people? What if someone talks to me?” Abby had taken this job expressly to wrangle incriminating info out of employees and guests. And how weird was it to have a receptionist who didn’t receive?
“The staff won’t need help from you.” Gretchen said dismissively. “If someone does talk to you, you will immediately alert me.”
She pointed to a red button on the receptionist phone. There were no other numbers on the phone. Okay then.
“Most of the job will be doing event prep at your desk. But we don’t want visitors to see you doing this so you must be discreet. Here’s your first task, preparing lanyards, seating cards and giftbags.”
She gestured to a box behind the receptionist desk, jumbled with gold embossed cards, ribbons, stickers, keychains and lip balm.
Abby slumped. Of course a billion dollar financial firm would try to save money in this useless, busy work way. If nothing else, she could wander around the offices pretending to look for ribbon and white-out.
Gretchen walked through the glass doors on the right, using her keycard. It was only after she left that Abby realized she hadn’t been given a keycard. How was she supposed to go to the bathroom? Or snoop for that matter?
The next person to come in, a short, paunchy man, with a rather absurd-looking pocket watch hanging from his coat, barely looked at Abby in his hurry to get in. Abby took advantage by rushing to the glass doors right before they snapped shut. The man didn’t seem to notice or care that Abby had snuck in behind him.
She immediately straightened, and put on a blank, purposeful expression, trying to look like she belonged here.
The hallway was full of closed doors-not inviting. But then she came out into a sort of cafe area, with an area of coffee machines, baked goods. A glass refrigerator display sushi, crudites, macarons, and bright green macrobiotic smoothie. Abby decided she’d blend in more if she took a smoothie, which tasted like newts blended with tadpoles.
More hallways with closed doors. This was not promising. Finally she came to a dining area with a work out room, sauna, and some sort of meditation/nap room, filled with pillows. That was it. No sign of Gretchen, Mr. Granger or anyone.
Abby decided she’d use a white-out search story and knock on doors. But every single door she knocked on and then tentatively opened, revealed a pristine office with mahogany furniture, plush carpet, and absolutely no sign of anyone ever occupying it–the desks were dusty, the drawers empty. Some offices didn’t even have furniture.
After the tenth empty office Abby felt disturbed enough to hurry back to the pantry. Who was eating all this sushi if no one was in the office? She hastily got rid of the smoothie container
What was the point of an office on the 35th floor of a Wall Street skyscraper if no one worked there? Abby had a feeling she’d seen too much, and only now realized that she’d likely been filmed snooping in drawers on camera.
Well then, if she was going to get fired, she might as well make the most of it.
— Von
She gave her name to the security guard on the ground floor who directed her to the thirty-fifth floor. As soon as she left the elevator she was met by Gretchen, a blond woman with a grim smile, and asked to take a chair at the reception desk, a forbidding sarcophagus of black marble.
“We don’t need a receptionist, the security on the ground floor registers our guests. But Mr Granger likes the way a receptionist looks at the elevator entrance. All our visitors are greeted by one of the staff, such as myself, so you mustn’t talk to any of them. Nor should you talk to staff. It’s fine to nod if you make eye contact with someone, but we don’t want any other chitchat.”
Abby was taken aback. “Wait, you want a receptionist who doesn’t talk to people? What if someone talks to me?” Abby had taken this job expressly to wrangle incriminating info out of employees and guests. And how weird was it to have a receptionist who didn’t receive?
“The staff won’t need help from you.” Gretchen said dismissively. “If someone does talk to you, you will immediately alert me.”
She pointed to a red button on the receptionist phone. There were no other numbers on the phone. Okay then.
“Most of the job will be doing event prep at your desk. But we don’t want visitors to see you doing this so you must be discreet. Here’s your first task, preparing lanyards, seating cards and giftbags.”
She gestured to a box behind the receptionist desk, jumbled with gold embossed cards, ribbons, stickers, keychains and lip balm.
Abby slumped. Of course a billion dollar financial firm would try to save money in this useless, busy work way. If nothing else, she could wander around the offices pretending to look for ribbon and white-out.
Gretchen walked through the glass doors on the right, using her keycard. It was only after she left that Abby realized she hadn’t been given a keycard. How was she supposed to go to the bathroom? Or snoop for that matter?
The next person to come in, a short, paunchy man, with a rather absurd-looking pocket watch hanging from his coat, barely looked at Abby in his hurry to get in. Abby took advantage by rushing to the glass doors right before they snapped shut. The man didn’t seem to notice or care that Abby had snuck in behind him.
She immediately straightened, and put on a blank, purposeful expression, trying to look like she belonged here.
The hallway was full of closed doors-not inviting. But then she came out into a sort of cafe area, with an area of coffee machines, baked goods. A glass refrigerator display sushi, crudites, macarons, and bright green macrobiotic smoothie. Abby decided she’d blend in more if she took a smoothie, which tasted like newts blended with tadpoles.
More hallways with closed doors. This was not promising. Finally she came to a dining area with a work out room, sauna, and some sort of meditation/nap room, filled with pillows. That was it. No sign of Gretchen, Mr. Granger or anyone.
Abby decided she’d use a white-out search story and knock on doors. But every single door she knocked on and then tentatively opened, revealed a pristine office with mahogany furniture, plush carpet, and absolutely no sign of anyone ever occupying it–the desks were dusty, the drawers empty. Some offices didn’t even have furniture.
After the tenth empty office Abby felt disturbed enough to hurry back to the pantry. Who was eating all this sushi if no one was in the office? She hastily got rid of the smoothie container
What was the point of an office on the 35th floor of a Wall Street skyscraper if no one worked there? Abby had a feeling she’d seen too much, and only now realized that she’d likely been filmed snooping in drawers on camera.
Well then, if she was going to get fired, she might as well make the most of it.
— Von
So strange! I feel this needs another chapter. I want to know what the heck this "company" does... intriguing... very good descriptions of the superficial world of "business"... appearances. ---Macoff
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