SNAP: The World Unfolds

CHAPTER TWO

The actual workplace and offices of SNAP could have been any cubicle farm.  Probably fifty of them filled the big space with what looked like offices and conference rooms ranging down the sides.  At the back, or what I initially thought was the back, was another huge mirror, again etched with the SNAP logo.

Like the reception area, the huge room was silent. 

“It’s a little spooky,” Jazz gave a small laugh.  “I like it much better when there are people here.  Follow me, please.”

“When are there people here?” I asked as we wove our way through the maze toward the mirror.

“Well, most of the editorial assistants start getting here about noon.   The reporters, at least those who work here, begin coming in in the early afternoon, maybe one or two.  The art department and the taping studio take up the 19th floor and I don’t go up there a lot.  I think they come in later in the afternoon.

“The whole office is really rocking at six and then it’s a madhouse.  We do the first TV show at 7 and the last one at 10 so it’s frenzied until about eleven, then it’s just over.”

We’d gotten to the mirror and Jazz waved her badge at it.  Another door opened and she stepped through.  I was standing there and must have been looking as astounded as I felt because Jazz said, “It’s not really a trick. You’ll get used to it.  We all have.”

“It’s a little disconcerting,” I said.  “How do you know where the door is and where to scan your badge?”

“It’s set so the sensors are in a strip.  You line your badge up near the S.  It’s designed like that so you don’t have to always keep looking at the mirror.  And there is only one door through the mirror.”

I followed her through the mirror again and was in what were clearly executive offices.  There was another reception area, but this was more inviting.  Copies of SNAP: The Magazine, were artfully strewn around on tables.  The receptionist, this one with black hair but the same Russian Red mouth, sat behind a black granite desk and her phone console actually rang, or at least made a sound like rushing water.

She looked up at me and smiled as Jazz said, “This is Maxmillia Gwenoch, the new managing editor.  Ms. Gwenoch, this is Sasha, our executive receptionist.”

Sasha’s smile reached her eyes and her demeanor was friendlier than the Ice Princesses holding down the fort.  But maybe that why they were there.  It sure would cut down on any unwanted visitors.

“I’m happy to meet you, Ms. Gwenoch,” she said.  I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.”

“Please, if it’s just in the office, call me Maxie,” I said.  “I prefer Ms. Gwenoch if it’s a formal business association, but it’s cumbersome for daily use.”

I turned to Jazz. “So, do I have an office in here?”

“Yes.  It’s over here.”  She walked around Sasha’s desk and headed toward a back corner.  We passed several dark offices with blinds and curtains drawn, a move I supposed saved on the electric bill.  Even an international media conglomerate like SNAP probably felt the need to be cost-conscious.

I sure didn’t feel any cost cutting as I walked into my new office, though.  Recessed lighting in the ceiling, a gianormous glass desk, leather chairs and a white leather sofa with a smaller glass coffee table.  Mounted on the wall over the sofa was a large flat-screen television.  Bookshelves lined one wall and a black granite-topped credenza lined up with a computer desk holding a monitor, personal printer and copier.

Jazz walked over and pulled out a drawer from one of the desk’s pedestals. 

“Here are the controls for the drapes and blinds,” she said.  “And the universal remote is here, too.  The chargers for all your phones are here.  Would you rather have a handset, headpiece, Bluetooth?”

“Anything that’s wireless,” I said.  I walked behind the desk, sank into the chair and swiveled to look at the window.  Jazz hit the remote for the blinds and I watched as a view of buildings stretching almost to the blue smear of the Pacific filled the window. 

“Wow, it’s clear today,” Jazz said.  “During the summer the smog is so bad you can’t see the ocean.  Sometimes you can’t see three streets over.”

Welcome back to L.A.