“I think that’s against most company policies to ask.”
“Oh, I know, but we’re friends, right? My point is if you are single, there are so many hot guys. Some sexy married guys too, but that’s against my personal policy.” Rubbing her baby belly, she laughs. “Well, before and after I was married.”
“It’s a good policy to live by, no matter what your status is.”
Opening the fridge, she pulls out a yogurt and points it at me. “I’d kill Kellan if he cheated on me.” I’m thinking she veers easily from topic to topic. “As I was saying, if you’re single, it’s not against policy to date a coworker is all I’m saying, though they do frown upon it.” After grabbing a spoon from the drawer, she hip-checks it closed. “Do you want a coffee or anything?”
“No, thank you. I finished one just before I arrived.”
“I think that’s it for the office layout. Each door is labeled, but if you do need help, you can ask almost anyone. Most people around here are nice. There are a few moody members of the CWM team, but we’re careful not to talk about them.” Cupping her hand to the side of her mouth, she rubs her belly again. “At least not until we get to happy hour. It’s been a while since I’ve gone to The Watering Hole, though. Any questions so far?”
“About the office layout or happy hour?”
“Either.” She laughs. “You’re hilarious, Juni.”
“Thanks.” I give her a nod of appreciation, and then say, “I noticed there’s no plant life.”
She waves it off as if that’s insignificant, as if breathing fresh oxygen isn’t the basis of survival. “The last receptionist left a plant behind. I think it was a fern. Big leaves with a long vine.”
“Sounds like a philodendron.” When she doesn’t blink, I wave my hand between us. “An ivy.”
“Oh! Yeah, I don’t know. It sat here on the counter until it died.”
“Did you water it?”
Setting down the yogurt and spoon, she begins sorting through the papers left on a table. “Guess that mystery is now solved.” With a burst of energy, she waggles her thumbs in the air. “Did you say you’re all good with the office?”
“Yep. All good.”
Marching past me with her snack in hand, she says, “All right then. Let’s get back to the front desk and start on phone protocol. I have a baby shower to get to in the atrium before lunch. You think you’ll be ready to cover the front?”
I have faith I can handle it. “I’ll be ready, and you can enjoy the shower.”
“That would be fantastic. We thought we’d have to move it to the reception area while I answered calls.” And then she answers another call. “It’s a great day to invest in your future with Christiansen Wealth Management. How may I help you?”
Although my temp career has had me working everywhere from offices to retail to once being hired for the Big Apple Circus for a week as a stand-in ballerina (all those dance lessons my grandmother insisted I take for poise paying off), I’m not sure what to make of this one.
I only took this job as a favor to the temp agency. They begged. Apparently, it was big money, and they wanted to land this account for future opportunities. They’ve had two others rotate through, but neither was a good fit. Now they’re sending me, the best they have.
Agreeing to something steady for six to eight weeks will be a change in pace. I prefer variety to my days, and this job is feeling a lot like commitment. The last thing I want to dedicate my time to is something with the potential for permanency. That never works out well for this soul.
But I made the commitment, or had my arm twisted, I should say, so I’ll follow through.
It’s only six weeks, max eight, depending on when Melissa wants to return.
Weeks. That’s it.
Not for a year or for life.
After completing Tuesday’s task of organizing the supply room, we return to the front desk.
I’m told we restock the break room on Wednesdays.
We are supposed to verify conference room appointments and make sure they’re ready to go next week.
And it sounds like I prepare to repeat the week’s duty next week by ordering everything for delivery on Monday.
My ability to learn quickly growing up served me well on the junior circuit, my mind a sponge for information, my memory as sharp as a thumbtack. At least back then. It’s not too shabby now, I must admit, but I’m not competing anymore.
The little reassurance doesn’t do much for my stomach. I’m not sure what’s making me a little queasy, but I swallow it down. As if that is an accomplishment in and of itself, I pride myself on being present in the moment and not letting fear take over. “I push this one and then transfer here, but add their employee number?”
“Exactly. The automation takes it from there.”
Judging by how busy this position is, time is going to fly. She’s already had me running the reception desk for two hours. She grabs her purse from the drawer and asks, “Are you ready?”
“Guess we’re about to find out.”
“You’ve got this, Juni. I’ll be right inside if you need anything.”
One hour on my own. Easy peasy. While I work, the entire office showers her with baby gifts. I can hear the laughter and her squeals of excitement all the way in reception. Barely able to hear my calls over Melissa’s raving about Mr. Christiansen’s gift, I get up to shut the door.
From my research, the directory lists two Christiansens, who I suspect are the owners, considering the company's name—a lawyer and the CEO. Apparently, one of them is winning the day with their gift.
Although I’m curious what it is, it’s much quieter with the door closed.
Melissa practically floats through the door, leaving it wide open again. She taps the screen of her phone, bringing it to life, and then says, “It’s lunchtime. This is how we shut everything down when we leave the desk for an hour or at the end of the day.”
She goes through each step and then has me do it. When I get it right the first time, Melissa confides in me that she knew I’d catch on quickly the moment we met.
We ride down the elevator together. It’s crowded, so we move to the back. She whispers, “The boss just gave me a silver baby’s rattle from Tiffany and two extra paid weeks off. And here I thought he was the moodiest man I’ve ever met. Today he’s my favorite.” The herd exits the elevator, but I remain, my knuckles whitening around the railing.
Just outside the elevator, she turns back as if she just realized I’m not beside her. “Come on, Juni.”
I move at the sound of my name but then stop in the lobby. “Does that mean you’re taking eight or ten weeks for your leave?”
“Ten.” She carries on as if she has no cares in the world. “My last day is Friday, and I cannot wait to work on my tan.” She turns around again and waves me to her. “And nest, of course.”
“Of course,” I reply, going through the motions. Ten weeks is suddenly sounding like forever. Am I ready to take that on? Do I even want to? I need to call the agency again.
Outside the building, Melissa jets off to meet her husband for lunch, and although she was kind enough to invite me, I decline. I brought my lunch from home, but more so, I need a minute or fifty-five to wrap my head around this change in plans.