O N E
THE FIRST IMPRESSION is the best impression.
Too bad that Linda's went south the moment the recruiting officer for Mort & Blackman Industries opened his mouth.
Linda Blake sat across a glossy black desk from a squat little man whose greatest pride was apparently the inability to shut his mouth. His hairline receded and his thin bottom lip held a dot of red. Light pink lipstick stuck to the collar of his wrinkled white dress shirt tucked unevenly into his pinstriped suit pants. The right side of his shirt was taut against his flabby little titties. She doubted that an overzealous wife had left the souvenir, which only left a paid companion.
One who apparently didn't have any taste in men or had great taste in money. Linda didn't have to look at the payroll to know that the sour faced asshole made bank.
His lips pursed with every syllable that spilled from his mouth. His glazed eyes ran back-and-forth across the text on the bright screen in front of him. His stubby fingers pecked away at the hard keys and he droned on about the importance of happy clients — at any cost. He was attempting to appear important – busy. Linda resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the troll of a man.
"At Morgan & Blackman, we pride ourselves on being an equal opportunity employer. We hire despite race, religion, or sexual orientation. If you resume meets or exceeds our qualifications and you're the best applicant we have, you can assure your position in our company. Having never attended an IVY League institution and never having registered with any of our esteemed state's associations, do you honestly and adequately feel that your resume meets or exceeds our expectations Miss Blake?"
"Yes, I do and no, I did not but I am registered with both national and international associations of directive assistants. It is more than I can say for the other applicants awaiting a final interview in the lobby. I know that I am more than qualified for such a position."
"In that case, I am saved from my usual spiel of over qualification and how we like to match our candidates for positions that suit them. I am sorry Miss Blake but your—"
"Attitude is not an appropriate fit for Mort & Blackman Industries," she impeded, "I figured that in the exact moment I walked into this stinky office and sat in this hard ass chair, but I knew it the moment you began to read me the entire employee handbook in chronological order — which is disrespectful by the by — directly after introducing yourself."
"Thank you for your time Miss Blake," the fat, flustered man countered, "Allow me to show you out."
"Don't move on my account. I know the way out," Linda stood as if she were the woman who owned the very building they sat in and turned her head once she reached the office door. It was a short walk, "I'll inform your assistant to let in your next appointment and advise the next woman or man that they'd do better standing. Good day Mr. Harting."
Linda kept her word. It was, after all, what she did best. Her four-inch industrial black heels made very little noise against the linoleum-tiled floors as she strutted her way to the bank of elevators. The ugly ass shoes, purchased on sale from TJ Maxx, felt like stone grating against the bottoms of her feet. Digging her vibrating cell from the bottom of her bag, she leaned down and tugged the monstrosities called footwear off as she answered.
"You've got Linda," she let out a relieved sigh, "May I ask who's calling?"
"Hello Linda, my name is Emily Jones and I am the head of Human Resources at Zane Enterprises International. I am calling because your application was accepted for the position of Lead Directive Assistant and I would like to schedule you for orientation Tuesday morning at eight a.m."
