Pursuing a M.Arch degree at Cornell whilst doing complementary internships used to feel fulfilling to me, but now sitting behind this messy desk in a claustrophobic cubicle makes me realize how much a person's goals can change in the short span of four months. Needless to say, this isn't what I want at all; I don't want to spend the next six and a half years of my life doing a useless degree and skip my holidays to work at firms that drain me mentally and physically, and only offer minimum wage. Interior design? Now that was way more up my street. Colors, fabrics, furniture flying everywhere... me getting paid to make my visions a reality? Making a career out of my imagination? All pros, no cons. My current place of work has an interior and exterior design department, being an Architecture firm of course it would, but I'm under-qualified. Plus there's no vacancies, anyway. "I'm just an 18 year old amongst top-dogs. What do I know?", the insecure half my brain wondered. It begs a thought; I'm the youngest here, meaning that other youngsters are out enjoying themselves while I'm exerting myself unnecessarily. Seriously, what am I even doing here?
Knock knock. The mahogany cubicle door sounded. My feet instinctively kicked off the desk, shuffling the array of paperwork on my desk into a more orderly a file and raking a hand through my long hair in an effort to look slightly more presentable. "Come in?" I questioned more than stated, feeling my voice quaver in a strange way. The door swung open merrily and in came Mr.Hall, one of the less important executives, followed by a man in the uniform all interns like myself wore. Adjusting his rimless spectacles, the executive spoke. "Jasmine, Oscar. Oscar, Jasmine," He did the routine introduction as me and the new intern elevator-eyed each other. There was something about the way his smile shone so brightly that just...
"Hi, Jasmine. Nice to meet you." Oscar stepped in front of the stout old man and stuck his hand out, to which I stuck my shaky one back. Seriously, when did this wave of nervousness come over me? I didn't feel like my usual confident self for some reason. "Hey." I eventually managed to whisper, and I swear as soon as our hands touched I felt something powerfully electric that sent me jerking backwards unintentionally. Almost falling off my wheelie chair, the executive sighed almost disgustedly at me and proceeded to tell me that he "hopes I don't come off this ditsy to the clients." Was it just me, or was everyone disrespecting me this month? As Oscar took a bowed step to the side to let Mr.Hall's chubby body to leave my room, he chuckled.
"Excuse my uncle, his wife just had a baby and he's acting as if he's the one who went through the labor."
It was starting to make sense. Oscar looked no older than 20, and typically all the interns here were in their late twenties... aside from me who seemed to be the outcast in every situation, social life included. So that's why he was here: his uncle managed to squeeze a vacancy for him. Family perks. "Wow, imagine being related to Mr.Hall." I teased half-giggling, to which he continued to chuckle
"It's not all bad. He makes a mean jollof rice dish, but you can't tell him I told you that," Oscar winked playfully, still laughing. I appreciate how he made light of a dark situation, that dark situation being having to work at this tiring place on the outskirts of NYC. Honestly, I still couldn't get over that smile, but the more I looked at him, the more apparent it became. "You're the guy in the parking lot."
Oscar looked perplexed at first, then a few long seconds later we were on the same page. "Yes, I am," His hearty chuckle echoed in the cubicle, and I couldn't help but mentally panic for him; laughing was unheard of in this building. It's like we were all programmed to be miserable as soon as we stepped foot here, but I kept my cool and refrained from telling him. What was I supposed to say, anyway? 'Stop laughing, you're supposed to be upset'? "And you're the angel who rejected me." You'd expect him to sound at least the slightest bit hurt, but what I caught from his voice was an odd sense of relief. "Thank you for that: I sounded desperate and needed to be hit with reality." He explained with the same old grin. Lost for words, I just nodded my head slowly and apologetically. "I hope you don't... feel sorry for me." As if it was weird to pity someone who got rejected, but to keep his masculinity intact I simply replied:
"Why would I? You're a man, and I'm sure you've got plenty of other girls swooning over you." He flailed a hand at me and shook his head softly.
