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I made it to work. Somehow. That felt like an accomplishment, considering how absentminded I was after everything the last twenty-four hours had brought. I also managed to text Ellie at a reasonable time. She did notice that it was a bit earlier than expected, but that was forgivable. She couldn’t expect everything to be completely normal given the many circumstances. Some Ellie knew about and some she didn’t, and I tried to lean into the ones she did.
I’m just distracted by draft selling stuff, I tried to say without a clue to what I might have meant. Once Erika gets started, it’s hard to stop her.
Ellie was willing to accept that but with one caveat. Just don’t push yourself too hard, okay?
I didn’t agree or disagree to that very reasonable demand. Instead, I grimaced and desperately searched my brain for some sort of reply that straddled the barbed line between truth and lie. After all, I was going to push myself. I didn’t have much of a choice. This wasn’t a forgiving line of work. But even with that being said, if I admitted that to Ellie, it was only going to worry her, and I couldn’t stand the thought of that. She deserved so much better than that.
Case in point: when I made it to my cube, there was a small surprise waiting for me there. It was one of those needlessly fancy (and expensive) blended coffee drinks that I loved but never treated myself to under the guise of “not deserving it.”
Ellie knew about that. It was something that bothered her about me.
I only stared at it at first. Disbelief caused all my neurons to short circuit, holding me back while my mouth and stomach were pulling me forward. I took my backpack off and tossed it onto the floor. With that done, I pushed myself forward into my seat, making use of the power of muscle memory and auto pilot. And as I drew closer, I found the note Ellie had left me.
Congrats on the publishing progress! Sending everything to Erika is a big step, right?
At the end, she had signed her name and left a small heart beside the ‘e.’ The heart and every letter of her message was delicately composed, but despite that artistry, her handwriting still had a crisp, definitive nature to it. It was her. It called to mind her Chester accent. And that was beautiful.
The cup’s label told me she had gotten my order almost perfect. There were fewer shots of espresso than I preferred, but if I had to guess, that was a conscious choice on Ellie’s part rather than a mistake in her memory. And I could appreciate that. It might not have been the choice I would have made for myself, but it was done out of care. She cared about me. In some way.
I basked in the glow of that care for half a moment before I remembered the conversation we needed to have. I might have been dreading it, but there was no way to avoid it. I was going to have to tell her I was leaving, at least in the short term.
Slowly, I lowered myself into my seat as the weight of the situation pressed down on me. I ran the details in my mind, trying to find some way I could live a double life, taking the fellowship and still having this shitty job, but it just wasn’t possible. No matter what convoluted plans I came up with in my mind, there was still no way to make it happen. An in-residence fellowship meant uprooting my life and being somewhere else for the entirety of an academic year. I would have commitments during the day, or at the very least, I would need to have some sort of presence in the office during the same hours I would be expecting to sit in that little cubicle, glaring at Perry through the faux walls that didn’t do enough to separate us. It was a hefty commitment, yes, but by most standards, it was a sweet gig. You got to hang around a university campus with no teaching requirement, full access to the various campus dining options, housing, and an office. And as far as writing gigs go, the pay was pretty good.
But there was no Ellie and no way for me to continue existing in the dismal but shared orbit that was this shitty workplace and all its many problems. That was what I would have to sacrifice for the sake of this opportunity.
As that hit me, I nearly cursed loudly, but for the sake of what was left of my dignity, I caught the first syllable as it began to slip out of my mouth. I could taste my frustration on it. It was a heavy, bitter thing.
But I could deal with this later, I tried to tell myself. And by later, I meant next month. The start date was early in August, if I remembered correctly. Maybe even September. So I had until then to sort out this goodbye.
So I could put off my inevitable resignation for a bit longer, and I could focus instead on what mattered, like Ellie and softening this blow. After all that she had done for me and all that she was to me, I owed her a graceful and compassionate departure from her life. That was the least I owed her. The absolute bare minimum. But I still hoped that it didn’t come to that.
No matter how hot the dumpster fire of my life got, I could always look to her for some sort of comfort, more than anyone had ever offered me and more than I ever deserved. Sure, she’d understand why I took the fellowship, or maybe she would be pushing me out the door because she’s just that nice and cares about me that much. But that wasn’t the problem. Really, I was afraid this was going to be the end of our relationship. We would be separated, our lunches would be permanently canceled, and we could no longer share complaints about the same dysfunctional work environment. These things were the crux of our connection, so much so that I couldn’t really see what we were without them. Never mind the distance. Even though Stella Maris was still in the Midwest–in a town called Dustford just a two-hour drive away from Chicago–a visit was more of a commitment than anyone could expect to make for a work friend. And that’s all we were, technically: work friends. I might have hoped for more, but it was a conversation I had hitherto been avoiding.
But my leaving would force it. I would need to know if I had the option of holding onto her. I wanted it to be so. I wanted us to be close enough that I would visit her and she would come to me. But were we the sort of people who could expect to visit each other under these circumstances? The bar was low, but I feared we didn’t even hit it.
But that’s the sort of need and fear that I always keep close to my chest. Even in a story about me, I struggle with the concept of “personal vulnerability,” or being vulnerable in a personal sense. Obviously as a writer, understanding vulnerability as a concept is a handy tool, and bizarrely enough, I can tap into it like a skilled therapist with children in college and many other bills to pay. In fact, that was one of the frequently cited reasons why people liked my first book so much: it spoke to their vulnerabilities in a way no other book had. It understood them despite being an object. But when it came to my own life, it was readily apparent that I deliberately ignored my own weaknesses and vulnerabilities. It was as if I thought that pretending they don’t exist would actually make them not exist.
And for the most part, it worked okay. Sometimes I felt like I was being eaten away by something, like the simple realization that life wasn’t what I had wanted it to be.
Being a writer is great, but it was always an ancillary plan for me. Being a doctor was Plan A. Then Dad’s last illness left me with a weird phobia of all things medical. Plan B was being an attorney, but considering I needed Erika to be my prosthetic backbone, that was just a fundamentally bad idea. Plan C was being an academic in the style of Professor Evory, the mentor more than the researcher, but graduate school didn’t work out because depressive spirals can really tank a GPA in a way no other aspect of the application process can erase. But also, rules. There are many rules and norms in academia that I didn’t want to deal with. My current state wasn’t exactly Plan D, unless you consider Plan D to be flying by the seat of my pants. In that case, yes, I was firmly situated in Plan D.
Being a writer is great, but if I’m honest with you–dear stranger who is reading this tale against all objective reasons–it was never the end game. I just fell into it when everything else failed.
But Ellie made all of that okay. Somewhat. I could accept my failures and failings because somehow, I ended up in her orbit. I found comfort in her presence. Or even her mere existence.
All the while, I was expecting to become the exception to Ellie’s general rule of being warm and kind to everyone she met. That’s just how the world has always worked when I was involved. That was the role I was destined for. But no, if anything, I was an exception of a different sort. Ellie seemed to trust me, and the defensive side of her that I had first noticed seemed to melt away in my presence. And that only encouraged me to push on. Then this sense of companionship kept growing, and my façade would crack, letting the screaming monsters of my mind peek out as they made their presence known. But none of it would ever scare her off (which it should have). Instead, she’d help me pick up the pieces leftover from all my breaks.
Once again, in general terms, that’s not surprising. That was Ellie being the wondrous soul I knew her to be. Ellie was good at taking charge, especially when she wanted to. So there was some comfort from her actions but also from being chosen. Or as chosen as I could be, considering there had to be some sort of boundary there. We were coworkers, after all.
And when I left we wouldn’t be coworkers anymore. We wouldn’t be bound by certain restrictions or norms without the typical threat of financial ruin because it would be me who was leaving. Me: the person who has a financial cushion and also an agent who is now drowning in things she needed to sell on my behalf.
So Ellie and I wouldn’t have to keep a forced distance around the office, office functions, or our coworkers without any economic consequences.
At this second glance, there would be benefits to this arrangement that I could hide behind, but on the other hand, there were drawbacks, some guaranteed and others potential. The guarantee was that I wouldn’t see her so often, and that stung. Even passing glances in the breakroom or hallway had come to mean a lot to me. And I couldn’t imagine what it would mean to be without them.
Suddenly, my stomach was twisted in a knot. Eating another bite seemed impossible, but because this milkshake-like beverage had been a gift from Ellie, I still wanted to try and get it down. That was the smallest way of showing my appreciation for her. So I started to sip at it as my computer slowly awakened for the day.
“Good morning, Mia,” I heard from over my shoulder as Hell froze over.
Well, the shock of Perry offering me a cheery greeting equated with Hell freezing over, even if they weren’t quite the same thing.
Happiness didn’t suit Perry. It went against everything she had fashioned herself to be. But she was smiling as she lingered at the entrance of my cubicle instead of going off to her own. Despite her outward demeanor, her presence still sucked up the life around her. Even when she was trying not to be, Perry was a walking ball of potentially contagious misery. She just wasn’t all that good at spreading it, but knowing I was still at risk, I only turned to face her with the greatest reluctance. Normally, she would have found that offensive. And yet, when I was finally facing her, she still had a giant grin plastered across her face. It looked forced, but the muscle specifically behind that expression had to be a bit weak.
“Good morning...?” I practically asked because how could Perry be having a good morning.
In the face of my incredulity, she held fast to the act she had put up. She didn’t address my doubt directly but moved on to her next talking point. “Say, that’s a nice breakfast you’ve got there,” she started.
With that, I immediately knew what was happening. This was her way of starting a sales pitch for her multi-level-marketing “endeavor,” for lack of a better word. I’d spent the months since she started her “business” waiting with bated breath in anticipation of this moment: of her attempting to sell me her overpriced garbage or bring me into her downline to sell said overpriced garbage linked to this multi-level marketing ‘side-hustle’ she had gotten swept up it.
Ellie and I knew this wasn’t going to go well. Multi-level marketing often does not go well unless you find yourself jumping into a company whose ink hasn’t dried. And the resulting desperation was going to make Perry overlook a lot of things, like her hatred for me. My money was just as green as anyone else’s after all. And that was really what she was after. As a result, Ellie and I had made a bet: that Perry (likely out of desperation) would try to peddle her wares to me despite her intense hatred within a year of her starting this endeavor.
I glanced at the small calendar hanging on my cube wall for the date. Five months, I quickly calculated. It was five months since Perry started this endeavor, so Ellie won. Generally, losing wasn’t fun, but losing this bet meant I needed to take her out for bubble tea, something I was very happy to do. It was something I wanted to do anyway but could never strike up the nerve to ask.
But even though I had something I had wanted for quite some time, there were drawbacks. I was on the verge of creating an even more hostile work environment as my refusal would likely promote me from annoyance to what is known in multi-level marketing circles as a “dream-stealer.” Or so I heard.
This is not going to be good, I thought, as I took another drawn out sip of my drink to stall for time. I didn’t want to do anything that would perpetuate the conversation, not that I was entirely sure it was my turn to talk. Perry hadn’t asked me a question that required a response. Rather, she had made an observation that did not prompt affirmation or denial.
“I like them too,” she said, and with that I caught the faintest undercurrent of annoyance in her voice. But in her eyes, I could see a switch being flipped, as she reverted to her sales mode. “But they’re always missing something. Like a little boost of healthy flavor.”
You hear about other people being forced to suffer through multi-level marketing or alternative health sales pitch, but you never think it’s going to happen to you. And even if you spend time coming up with snappy and/or polite ways of ending the conversation you suspect is coming, when it actually happens your mind goes completely blank. Assuming there was anything in it in the first place, which was potentially not true in my case.
I groaned internally. Then I screamed internally. Neither made me feel better.
Perhaps, dear audience to this tale, you think Perry is selling herbs and spices, which would still be a weird thing to put into a drink, but maybe after a moment’s thought you would then remember the existence of flavoring syrups now sold to the public in small, almost pocket-size containers and typically used for water. But that was not what Perry was actually selling. She had jumped into essential oils despite never previously showing any interest in wellness or any of the other categories said oils fell into. I’m sure there was some sort of logical trajectory there. Everyone’s life story is a tapestry of connecting threads, after all, but I proudly made no attempt to learn anything about Perry’s. I’d just lucked out that our office had a scent-free policy for liability reasons. So there was only so much she could do partially because of that policy’s existence but also because HR was perpetually on the fence about firing her because of the whole “hasn’t done anything well since she interviewed well” thing. Really, the only thing she had going for her was that everyone involved thought it would be too much work to find a replacement who might be as bad if not worse. But poking the mysterious bear that is “liability reasons” would only tip the scales away from her favor.
But there was no (enforced) policy about selling things at work. If there were, none of the candy or cookie fundraisers that parents pushed on their kids' behalf would be permissible, and we all really loved those. Perry’s periodic pitch was the price we had to pay for the brief sensory pleasures of charity-based dessert items.
With that unspoken truth in the air between us, she continued on, digging in her purse for something that was likely old, potentially contaminated, and definitely disgusting. “You know, I have something that might spice up that drink of yours,” she said.
At the mere thought, my stomach flipped. I kept the straw in my mouth as a sort of futile attempt to end the conversation. But it didn’t do that. The straw made it harder for me to speak on a technical level, but it was an easy thing to remove as long as Perry just pushed on.
She pulled out a small, dark brown jar and pointed to the label. “So this one is lemon, and in case you haven’t heard, there’s a lot of benefits to having lemon in your morning drink!”
Morning water, I mentally corrected. I had heard mention of a study that suggested having lemon water in the morning might improve digestion or weight loss. Something like that. But it wasn’t a great study. There was something faulty about the sample size or something like that. And it also wasn’t relevant here. That was lemon, not a lemon-scented oil or whatever was in that bottle.
For some reason, that broke me. I released my straw, which then slowly drifted away from my mouth almost as if it was deliberately contributing some dramatic tension to the moment.
“I’m going to stop you right there,” I said curtly, pushing down the air between us as if I could physically knock her words to the floor to then crush beneath my feet.
Her smile faded, so the heart of the message was clear. With that, this could have been the end of it. While it would not have been a great end, it would have been less rude than what I actually gave her.
Which was: “There is nothing you could say to get me interested in your bullshit. And that’s all it is. Bullshit. Because not only is some of the science around essential oils dubious at best, that crap you’re peddling is likely bottled garbage. Of course, they’re going to tell you that it is not, but in a business model entirely based around exploiting people, bottling the juices from garbage cans and slapping fancy labels on the bottle is not that big of a stretch.”
I could tell Perry wanted to curse me out, but she didn’t. She had an image to maintain and frankly, part of her was likely happy to have a new reason to be angry. With a huff, she stormed back to her cubicle on the other side of a wall I had always thought was too thin and small.
A pang of guilt hit me in her absence, but I dismissed what had happened as unavoidable. Perry brought the worst out of me. I wasn’t proud of that, but I couldn’t really deny it either. It was just a truth I had to uncomfortably sit with.
But I left it behind when I remembered that there was something else for me to do besides marinate in my own self-loathing. After all, it was only right that I own up to the bet I had lost.
So I texted Ellie. Welp, it happened. Perry tried to push her oils onto me.
I didn’t expect a response right away. On Friday mornings, Ellie’s department has a weekly meeting. She told me all about them, and her description was packed full of complaints. But she could admit that on some fronts, they were necessary. Hence why they were scheduled on Fridays, which was a connection I didn’t understand that she then had to explain. And the explanation was not great. But apparently no one likes calling out on Friday off because abusing the (not at all generous) sick leave policy was ground for termination, creating a lingering fear about even the perception of doing such. So Fridays and Mondays had the greatest attendance rate in the office.
Never mind that germs don’t have a conception of calendars or work weeks, I guess, but then again, I was in a position where I didn’t have to care at all. It went beyond all the other quirks of my employment situation. I simply never called out sick. Then there was the fact that I would sometimes bring office supplies that I purchased with my own money into the office because I couldn’t be bothered to try and get them from the utter pit of despair that was the supply closet, which was always locked and I never bothered to learn who had the key. When you reverse-steal office supplies, the company is more inclined to keep you just for the small savings you bring. For your own sake, it’s not a good idea, but it worked for me as a person trapped in the motions, putting off inevitable life transitions and next steps because I could afford the toll on the path of least resistance.
Perry settled into her cubicle with more aggression than she normally did, loudly throwing her stuff around to ensure I didn’t forget how poorly she took my remarks. As if her bad attitude wasn’t permanently etched into my mind.
I sighed and turned away from the sound of her tantrum in time to see Aidan in the distance, making his usual rounds through the cubicle bay, as if depriving us of his grace and majesty would cause our office to burn down. Obviously, that was his fantasy. In reality, he was strutting around like a turkey that saw a peacock once and assumed it was the exact same creature. Far from it. Aidan wasn’t really all that put together. His suit wasn’t even the right size, and it was most obvious in the pants, which were much too large for him. The circumference of the leg holes made his actual legs look stick thin, and the extra fabric along the waistline bunched up in an extra disheveled way underneath his cheap belt. It might have been a fashionable belt once, but Aidan had worn it for years past its prime. I was fairly certain he got it in college, and he just didn’t seem to realize that fake leather degrades in a fairly visible way. A year before, it hit a state where it was no longer workplace appropriate, particularly for someone in a managerial role that they may or may not have deserved. And he didn’t realize it.
Was Aidan the poster child for nepotism? I actually didn’t think so. Perry getting a job at that company proved the HR department wasn’t great at screening candidates, which provided a different explanation for his rise. So what if he had the same surname as someone on the board? It wasn’t all that uncommon of a surname. People can fail upwards anytime. I had.
Aidan continued his usual “rounds,” blissfully unaware of the scorn those of us in the cubicles were throwing his way. Most of us were, anyway. Perry’s scorn was spoken for. And some of mine was directed at Perry for thinking I could be a hapless mark for her scam, but he rightfully had whatever wasn’t accounted for. It was his fault that Ellie’s rightfully deserved promotion was being held up, but he wasn’t the only person on the selection committee. The rest of them would come to their senses in due time. When that happened, Aiden would be overruled, and balance would be restored.
So I just had to keep calm, I thought to myself. I couldn’t disrupt anything in a useful way, so it was better to just let things be for a moment. But as the buzz of my irritation continued on, I knew I had to force myself to calm down. So I reached for my drink with the same hurriedness that I would have reached for Ellie’s hand if I had any right to it. The act of drinking calmed me a bit, but at the same time, it kept my eyes lifted, just as Aidan was strolling past me.
Our eyes locked, and he took that as permission to come over, which I did not want to give him. Especially when he was wearing a dress shirt that had likely been shrunk in the wash a couple times. That was actually an optimistic assumption. A lot of us in the office were fairly certain he didn’t do his laundry enough, which was a needlessly mean aside. And yet, I included it anyway.
“Hey Mia,” he cheered.
I groaned inwardly. On top of everything, Aidan had a vibe that I would associate with youth pastors: overly cheerful while struggling with the great existential dread that came from dealing with people who would never CHOOSE to be in his presence while drowning in a cultural milieu that was evolving at a rate he couldn’t keep up with. That’s the line of work I would expect him to have if I saw him on the street. And it suited him. He had the energy of someone with the ardent and genuine desire to improve the world but maybe picked the wrong avenue to do it.
As if to further prove his aimlessness, he came up to my cubicle wall like he was an actor trying to hit a mark. But his steps weren’t spaced out properly at all, and as if he had hit a wall, he came to an abrupt stop right at an artificial point in the ugly carpet.
“Hey Mia,” he said again.
Apparently that was supposed to be my cue to say something or to greet him in return, but I didn’t feel so inclined. So I kept draining my cup. Nothing in me moved from that action.
“Nice drink,” he added with a nod of his head in an unrequested gesture of affirmation.
He shifted his posture a bit to take on a more “chill” attitude, giving the cubicle wall some of his weight to bear. It creaked in response.
With finger guns blazing, he continued. “Funday Friday, am I right?”
I cringed. “Considering I’m at work, not very. And isn’t the expression Sunday Funday?”
He deflated a bit. “Well, I mean new trends and all that. We gotta be trendsetters around here, right?”
I said nothing, which might have made the moment even more awkward. The only “good” outcome would have been to agree, but I couldn’t be bothered to do even that.
He pushed through the tension in the air. “But look, I wanted to talk to you about that project manager position.”
I tried to keep everything together on the outside, but inside, I was screaming. Knowing that was the position Ellie wanted and Aidan was holding up, I found it hard not to jump up and smack him across the face. But then I realized, maybe he wanted a reference for Ellie. I told her she could put me down, which I doubted was going to help her, but that detail aside, I was certainly willing to do whatever it took.
“What about it?” I asked, carefully.
Mentally, I was preparing something like an answer for him. I was ready to talk about all the amazing things Ellie was capable of doing and what she had done for the company so far. The hard part was that these were things I technically should have had no knowledge of because Ellie wasn’t in my department, but she was also reimagining broader processes around here. That’s the sort of thing I benefited from. So I would know about that work, right? Right. Great plan.
But said great plan was immediately shut down.
“I was hoping you’d apply for it,” he said, trailing off a bit towards the end. “Have you considered it?”
My heart dropped. I couldn’t stop myself. “Does mentally screaming ‘no way in any of the layers of Hell’ count? Because when I got your emails, I kept doing that. Again and again and again.”
Aidan chuckled nervously. “I mean... I guess technically, but Mia, you’d be perfect for that position.”
“Yes, because general disinterest if not outright contempt makes for a great employee,” I snapped back.
With that, I started to turn back to the computer. I just wanted the conversation to end, and with it being my cubicle, turning my back onto him and all his words could have done that. Not only was he generally not a fun person to talk to, but I also now had to deal with this stupid idea of his, one that got in the way of Ellie’s happiness with me as the pawn blocking her progress. Of course I was going to be angry. Why wouldn’t I be? There was just only so much I could do about it.
Aidan didn’t back down despite all the social cues telling him to do so. Instead, he said, “I wouldn’t call it outright content. I just think you have this tough exterior.”
I raised an eyebrow. Did he just say content? If so, it wasn’t worth correcting him. It was just odd because I was sure I used the right word.
Regardless, I started typing at nothing. “It’s not a tough exterior. My soul is just dead. Why are you pushing this, anyway? You can’t convince someone to want a new job, especially one that’s going to have a ton of responsibilities they never showed any interest in for less money than they would have asked for and as part of a team that they may not actually like. And besides,” I finished. My thumb slammed on the keyboard for some small bit of emphasis as I turned to face him again. “You have plenty of qualified and willing candidates to choose from.”
He leaned further onto the cubicle wall, which was very unadvised because the office had not sprung for the slightly more expensive ones that can hold a bit of weight, leaving us stuck with the ones that were always at risk of collapse. And if they collapsed, then I’d have to stare at Perry the rest of the day and an unknown number of days after until it was fixed or I left.
“Don’t...” I started to admonish.
He ignored me and said, “I don’t think so.”
“No, I’m saying, if you lean on that divider, it’s going to fall,” I finished.
Aidan continued to ignore me. “I mean, I don’t think there are any good candidates.”
My anger continued to grow. Even indirect jabs against Ellie weren’t going to land with me that day. Or any day really, but certainly not the day after she helped me sweep up the pieces of my shattered engagement and because of other things I struggled to admit. I thought about the meltdown I had at the mere sight of my sister and how she comforted me during it. There were more of those sorts of memories that I could point to as justifications for my anger. None of that really correlated with her work performance, but all of it was also evidence that Ellie had her act together. Which I didn’t. But somehow I was a better candidate for this job than she was? That didn’t make the least bit of sense.
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
He shrugged. “I’m pretty sure it is.”
And once again, this is where my mouth shot off when it should not have. “And I’m pretty sure your pants don’t fit right. And that your belt is trash.” I gestured to the entire ensemble of his. “Your judgment means absolutely nothing to me.”
Even in my situation, I probably shouldn’t risk getting fired. I remembered Dad warning me to be kind to everyone on my way up and when I was at the top because I would never know when I might fall. At the time, that seemed profound, and I took it to heart. Turns out, variations of that quote float all over the internet. And he was all over the internet as part of his profession and his many hobbies.
When I made the connection, one of the best moments I had with my father was reduced to a farce. That was something I could tell my new sister about. For whatever it might have been worth. But I knew better than that. Somehow.
I started to turn around again, but before I could, Aidan spoke, which (while nothing he said had a great deal of merit) did promise to be interesting.
“See,” he said with a goofy grin on his punchable face. “This is why I like you. You aren’t afraid to speak your mind and to josh me a little bit.”
“I wasn't ‘joshing’ you,” I told him calmly. “I legitimately think you’re somebody’s kid, a sixteen-year-old child, who was brought to the office under the premise of a ‘take your child to work’ event, but it was really an elaborate ruse for child abandonment, and nobody has told you yet.”
He didn’t even flinch. “This office needs novelty, Mia. You aren’t afraid to speak truth to power.”
“You. Aren’t. Power,” I shot back. “You are a caricature. The worst one anyone could come up with for a shitty manager. The sooner you can accept that, the sooner you can accept that your perception of yourself is vastly different than the view everyone else has of you, and the sooner you can fix yourself, the better off everyone else will be.”
My words hung in the air for a second too long. I didn’t have anything more to say to him, and in fact, I hadn’t really meant to say all that. It was a waste of breath.
Aidan wasn’t the type for self-improvement, which was a sort of mixed bag. On one hand, I dreaded what he would do with those sorts of tools or theories if he showed an inclination for them. But on the other hand, here I was giving him a concrete example of his failings, and he was taking them as (at best) witty banter or (at worst) validation to this ill-conceived idea of his that was hindering the advancement of people who wanted that opportunity. This wasn’t even about Ellie anymore but the abstract concept of a job candidate who deserved much better than this.
But true to form, he still wasn’t getting the message: a further testament to how pointless what I said really was. Instead of admitting defeat or letting this be some inciting action in a journey of self-reflection, he held firm. “Mia, just talk to the selection committee. I’m bringing them by later to meet you, then you can submit a resume, and we can talk numbers.”
“Or,” I started with one hand raised, but soon enough the other hand joined in, and suddenly in addition to speaking, I was waving wildly. “We jump straight to the numbers bit. I’m independently comfortable. And I’m here at this job because I want to be. Every day I make a choice: a selection out of a sea of many options. I could just not show up, formally quit, send my resume to other companies, send my resume to someone within this company or all the above. But I don’t. For reasons that I won’t go into. But whatever those reasons are, I am not chained to this cubicle like everyone else is, so you’re going to take what you get from me or you’re going to fire me. And that’s that.”
If Aidan tried to talk to me after that, I didn’t hear it. I took my phone and headphones out of my purse and used them to block out the sounds of an office I was increasingly growing to despise for all its politics and double-sided-ness. Eventually, he walked away, and in his absence, I realized that–in theory–I didn’t have to wait a full day to make another choice. I could just do it right then. Or whenever Aidan brough the selection committee over.