Sumettikul's Universe

{1} The Interview

"Mr. Akkarachotsopon is expected. Please sign in here, Mr. Puttha. You'll want the last elevator on the right, press for the twentieth floor." She smiles kindly at me, amused no doubt, as I sign in.

She hands me a security pass that has VISITOR very firmly stamped on the front. I can't help my smirk. Surely it's obvious that I'm just visiting. I don't fit in here at all. Nothing changes, I inwardly sigh. Thanking her, I walk over to the bank of elevators past the two security men who are both far more smartly dressed than I am in their well-cut black suits.

The elevator whisks me with terminal velocity to the twentieth floor. The doors slide open, and I'm in another large lobby - again all glass, steel, and white sandstone. I'm confronted by another desk of sandstone and another young blonde woman dressed impec­cably in black and white who rises to greet me.

"Mr. Puttha, could you wait here, please?" She points to a seated area of white leather chairs.

Behind the leather chairs is a spacious glass-walled meeting room with an equally spa­cious dark wood table and at least twenty matching chairs around it. Beyond that, there is a floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the Bangkok skyline that looks out through the city. It's a stunning vista, and I'm momentarily paralyzed by the view. Wow.

I sit down, fish the questions from my bag, and go through them, inwardly curs­ing Us for not providing me with a brief biography. I know nothing about this man I'm about to interview. He could be ninety or he could be thirty. The uncertainty is galling, and my nerves resurface, making me fidget. I've never been comfortable with one-on-one interviews, preferring the anonymity of a group discussion where I can sit inconspicuously at the back of the room. To be honest, I prefer my own company, reading a classic British novel, curled up in a chair in the campus library. Not sitting twitching nervously in a colos­sal glass and stone edifice.

I roll my eyes at myself. Get a grip, Bui. Judging from the building, which is too clinical and modern, I guess Sumettikul is in his forties: fit, tanned, and fair-haired to match the rest of the personnel.

Another elegant, flawlessly dressed blonde comes out of a large door to the right. What is it with all the immaculate blondes? It's like Stepford here. Taking a deep breath, I stand up.

"Mr. Puttha?" The latest blonde asks.

"Yes," I croak, and clear my throat. "Yes." There, that sounded more confident.

"Mr. Sumettikul will see you in a moment. May I take your jacket?"

"Oh, please." I struggle out of the jacket.

"Have you been offered any refreshment?"

"Um - no." Oh dear, is Blonde Number One in trouble?

Blonde Number Two frowns and eyes the young woman at the desk.

"Would you like tea, coffee, water?" She asks, turning her attention back to me.

"A glass of water. Thank you," I murmur.

"Eye, please fetch Mr. Puttha a glass of water." Her voice is stern. Eye scoots up immediately and scurries to a door on the other side of the foyer.

"My apologies, Mr. Puttha, Eye is our new intern. Please be seated. Mr. Sumettikul will be another five minutes."

Eye returns with a glass of iced water.

"Here you go, Mr. Puttha."

"Thank you."

Blonde Number Two marches over to the large desk, her heels clicking and echoing on the sandstone floor. She sits down, and they both continue their work.