Game on, Twombly||Stuart Twombly

Chapter Three

After checking my list, I decided to hit up some of the tour seminars first, just to get all of the walking out of the way before making my way to the Workplace seminar that would be held by Mr. Chetty.

Thank God we got to take off those God awful hats after the first meeting. I would have killed myself if I had to wear that the whole summer.

I walk into the air conditioned room, a step up from outside, and I shiver, since I took my cardigan off, for I was too hot. After taking a seat in the middle of one of the middle rows of plastic chairs, I set my bag down next to me, grabbing my cardigan out of it and slipping it back on over my shoulders.

Mr. Chetty stands in the front of the room by a large screen, a power point clicker in his hand. The seats stay empty beside me, but one seat over to my left, I can see the boy that kneed me in the back earlier. His Google hat is replaced in favor of a blue beanie, his brown hair sticking out from underneath it and flipping up in that quaff style all of the guys are doing now a days.

An assistant provides us with two paddles. One red, one green. After she is gone, Mr. Chetty starts the seminar.

"Now, I recognize that Google is not a conventional workplace," Mr. Chetty begins. "Having said that, we have rules. I'm going to ask you a series of questions. You are going to raise the green paddle to indicate 'yes', and the red paddle to indicate 'no'. So, let's begin."

He presses a button on his clicker, and the screen changes from the words 'Workplace Seminar' with a bunch of the Google apps on it, to the first question. "Having a beer with your boss?"

This is a no brainer. Since some of us are under twenty-one, it would only make sense for the answer to be no. Plus, I'm not a big drinker, anyway.

Just like I suspect, almost everyone in the room puts up their red paddle, besides two older guys in the row behind me. I recognize the brown haired one as the tree that stood in front of me in line at the café.

"Some of you, are under twenty-one," Mr. Chetty says after all of us drop our paddles.

"Some of us aren't under twenty-one," the tree from behind me says. "So, if you wanna grab a cold one with me, I'm happy to do that with you."

I cross one of my arms over my chest, propping my other elbow on it, and hold my forehead in my hand. This guy is an idiot. How did he even make it here?

"I will not be grabbing a cold one with you," Mr. Chetty says, his accent thick as he stares down the tree.

"You get high?" the tree asks, making me internally groan in annoyance. Does he know when to shut up?

"I don't get high."

"Okay. I'm not judging. I'm just saying. People do it." Then he leans in to the empty space between me and beanie boy, starting to whisper to the both of us. "That being said, if you want something cold to drink, we'll hook you up."

"I'm okay," beanie boy says, not sparing a glance back at the tree as Mr. Chetty continues to talk. "Thank you, just stop talking to me."

"I'm your Bill Holden in Stalag 17."

"I don't even—I really don't get that reference."

"Google it," the tree says before leaning back, not once really addressing me. Thank the Lord almighty.

"Got it," beanie boy says, ending the conversation with a confused look as he stares straight ahead at Chetty.

"Dating a fellow intern?" Mr. Chetty asks, going to the next question.