Look at You

Chapter 4

4

Not even Marketing Squadron # 1 comes into work today. I am completely and utterly alone on the eighth floor from 8:30 until 5. I spend most of the morning exploring my pitiful surroundings. I find a kitchen tucked away to the right of the elevator.

It's modest in size, but it's clean. Everything is dated, of course, but I see what looks like a coffee maker, and a standing jug of Poland Spring. I open every single cabinet and drawer looking for A. a drinking device and B. coffee. I find nothing. Not even a crumb.

I sit back down at my desk and count the redeeming qualities of this job. I come up with the following list:

1. Gets me out of the house all day

2. Don't have to bus tables (unlike at my previous unnecessary but necessary gig at the local Seafood joint)

3. Salary is good

Tomorrow, when the new flock comes, I hope this list will be longer. I pack up my bag at the end of the day and try not to think about the other list: the list of things I despise about being here. When I get out to the parking lot, I notice the Ford Taurus is missing. Marketing Squadron #1.

Dad can hear the sigh I make when I shut the front door all the way from the kitchen.

"Si, would you come here? Got some tests for you."

I oblige, heading toward the sound of my father's voice. He's sitting on the bench side of the kitchen table; his John Lennon glasses smushed up against his nose. He has his favorite red pen (Le Pen of course) in his left hand, and he's scratching notes on a piece of graph paper.

"What are we working on?" Jay is a high school calculus professor. He was in fact, my high school calculus professor. He used to work in universities, but he claims this is more entertaining. You're more involved in the students' lives. There's more drama, he says, like his very own reality TV show.

He takes the stack of papers sitting in front of him and divides them cleanly in half without a second glance. He hands me the stack in his right hand and I take a seat at the end of the table.

"See for yourself." He rips a piece of paper from the pad he's working on and hands it over to me.

I glance at the first test. Christopher Boggins. It seems like we're in prep mode for the AP exam. The questions are all over the place.

I grab the pen he has set out for me and quickly get to work creating my answer key. I fly through the first two pages of multiple choice and work diligently through the final two pages of open-ended responses. I'm finished in 10 minutes.

"Want to check against my answer key?" Jay is still writing notes for himself on the sheet of graph paper.

I scoff. "No, dad. Think I'm good."

"How was it today?" He caps his pen and looks up at me. I take a deep breath in and let it stream out my nose. He winces. "That bad?"

"It's just weird," I tell him. "No one's there and my training is all remote and the building is desolate. Couldn't even find a single coffee mug."

Dad raises his eyebrows. "No new folks in yet?"

"Tomorrow," I tell him, tapping the pen against the water glass stained wood.

"Well, that'll be good then. More chances to get some social interaction. More exciting days, I'd imagine."

"We'll see." I don't sound confident.