Obvious
Damian
two weeks since Angel was fired and I haven’t seen her since. We’ve talked on the phone a few times, texted back and forth daily, and made plans twice, which I had to cancel. She’s unemployed, but she’s managed to keep busy, even using her skills to volunteer at a soup kitchen. That’s yet another thing that makes her endearing.
In all the times we’ve spoken, I’ve never asked about her career goals and aspirations. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a server; I just never asked if she wanted something different someday. After she lost her job, I’ve avoided career talk at all costs, not wanting to upset her. She has said she’s got a few interviews lined up, but none of them had her really excited. Her closing remarks on the matter were, “A job is a job.”
Tonight, though, I’m going to see her one way or another.
I need to get my head on straight for now. My focus must be on my work and on getting these people to not only trust me, but interact with me. I swear, after my anger boiled over when Angel was fired, people around here gave me a wide berth. As far as they were concerned, I should have been happy because we wrapped up three major projects. Instead, a few of them witnessed me having a fit, word spread fast, and no one wanted to so much as take the same elevator as me. Sure, I behaved like a toddler, but everyone has those days. Do I need to bake them cookies? No, they’d probably throw them out.
That’s a depressing reality to face, thinking people dislike me so much they wouldn’t eat my cookies. I have no idea how to bake, though, so that’s for the best. Okay, no cookies, then.
Do I host an office party? No, that’s an HR nightmare.
Sleepaway camp? What are you? Seven?
That’s the extent I’m able to focus on work before I give in and do what I really want.
Damian: I need help.
The three dots below my message bounce along the screen. One good thing about her lack of employment is that she almost always responds right away.
Angel: The first step is asking. I’m proud of you.
I laugh with an ease I haven’t had all day. One quick message and I’m smiling.
Damian: Any suggestions to make my co-workers not hate me?
Angel: Why do you think they hate you?
Damian: Long story. It’s easier to call.
Before I can call her, “Angel” lights up my screen.
“Dish,” she says as soon as I answer.
“Hello to you too. What are you doing?”
“Currently, I’m sprawled out on my bed in my pyjamas. Such is the life of the unemployed.”
I imagine her on her bed in pyjama shorts and a tank top—which I have no idea if that’s what she wears, but it’s my imagination, so accuracy isn’t important—her hair splayed around her on a pillow and Genie curled up at her side. I’ve never been so jealous of a dog.
As envious as I may feel, her well-being is more important. " Have you given any thought to contacting the labour board?”
“Not really, no. I don’t want to go backwards, and I don’t want to waste my time on something that’s not helping me move forward.”
I hate that her boss will get away with how he treated her, but I can understand her thought process. “You’ll find something. Any prospects?”
“I have a phone interview for a freelance gig in two hours. We’ll see if anything comes of it. It’s nearby, so if they like my work, maybe it could turn into more.”
“A freelance… waitress?”
She bursts out laughing, telling me I’m way off the mark. “No, silly. As a graphic designer.”
Interesting. Wait… “Graphic designer? Is that piece behind your sofa yours?”
She’s silent for a beat. “It is.”
“Angel! Why haven’t you pursued that sooner? That piece is amazing. You should be using those skills.”
“Chill, man. Waitressing was never meant to be permanent, but once I started, I couldn’t argue with the tips and it was so close by. I just stuck it out. And you can’t tell from one piece of crummy artwork what my skills are like.”
“I can understand why you got sidetracked, but there’s nothing crummy about that work. Anyone would be a fool not to hire you.”
“Well, we’ll see how it goes later. What did you need help with? Why do you think everyone hates you?”
I tilt my chair back and heave out a breath. It was easier talking about her. Especially since I don’t enjoy broaching the work topic with her, given her current situation. Complaining about having a job makes me feel like a jerk. But I want her opinion. “From day one, it seemed everyone here was afraid of me. They never speak up or offer suggestions. They come to me for simple solutions, and it wouldn’t matter what I said or how awful my ideas were, they’d run with it rather than argue.”
“Maybe your ideas weren’t awful.”
“They were terrible. Trust me. I purposely pitched horrible ideas to see what they’d say.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to ease some tension in my head that appears every time I think about my work dilemma. "I’m not sure if they hate me or they’re scared, but they made up their minds before I was able to even make a first impression.”
“So change their minds. Or better yet, ask them why they’re afraid of you.” She makes it sound like a simple solution. Maybe it is.
“I’ve tried talking to a few of them, but no one ever wants to have a real conversation. It’s that bad.” I breathe out a long sigh. “You can’t tell me if you were afraid of your boss and he asked why, you’d share the whole reason.”
“Absolutely, I would, but I’m different. Most people are people-pleasers, afraid of confrontation or of losing their job.”
“I’d never fire someone for being honest.” I tilt my chair back further, throwing my feet up on my desk and relaxing into the conversation. The pressure in my head lessens the more I talk to her.
“Maybe they don’t know that. You might be surprised how much you can accomplish with a little honesty.”
Obviously, she isn’t privy to the world of advertising. Honesty is not the best policy.
She exhales, and Genie is snorting in the background. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have to walk Genie and get myself ready for my interview. Are you in need of any more of my services, Mr. Taylor?”
What springs to my mind would not be appropriate to say. “Not at the moment, but can I keep you on retainer?”
“If this interview doesn’t work out, that might be my only employment option. Good thing I’m so incredibly wise.” She chuckles, and that simple sound puts everything back into perspective.
“Thank you, oh wise one.”
“My pleasure. I’ll deduct this session from your prepaid tab.”
I release a childish sounding giggle. Never in my life have I made that sound before. “Text me to let me know how your interview goes, okay? I’ll get in touch with some of my contacts to see if anyone is hiring.”
“No, you will not.” The ferocity of her voice startles me. “I’m not taking handouts or pity jobs. I appreciate the offer, but I need to find somewhere on my own. Okay?”
This girl continues to surprise me. Any other people I’ve encountered would have jumped at the chance for a handout. Even if it is stubborn pride, I can appreciate her motivation to find a job on her own.
“Okay,” I concede.
With that, we end our call and I find myself counting down the hours until I can speak to her again. I got so caught up in whining, I forgot to ask to see her tonight. That makes the wait to hear from her again feel even longer.
Anticipation slows down the second hand.