Page 5 of Faking It With My New Boss

That was an exceptionally good thing that morning as I tried to multitask by brushing my teeth and getting dressed at the same time. I could feel the seconds sticking past me and kept trying to go faster so I wouldn't be late for my interview.

Which resulted in me promptly sticking my thumbnail right through my pantyhose as I tried to pull them on. Toothpaste dripped out of my mouth as I watched the run traveled down my pantyhose all the way to my foot. Letting out an exasperated growl, I peeled off the ruined hosiery, tossed them in the direction of the trashcan, and pulled a new pair out of the dresser.

Finally dressed, I headed for the kitchen. One of my favorite modern inventions is the coffee maker that can be programmed to start brewing at a specific time. It meant I already had a steaming cup ready for me when I rushed across the linoleum floor and grabbed the mug filled with delicious coffee. I took a satisfying sip, tipped the rest into a traveling tumbler, and ran for the front door.

I was on the way to my car when I realized I didn't know where my keys were. I didn't remember setting them down anywhere inside, but I also didn't remember picking them up that morning. Setting my coffee on the roof of my car, I dug through my purse in hopes I'd put them there. Finding them wedged into the corner at the very bottom felt like a much-needed victory in the rocky morning. I wrapped my fingers around the keys and pulled them out.

Unlocking the door, I wrenched it open. My respite from disaster was officially over. The edge of the door caught the bottom of my cup and knocked it down. I tried to catch it, which only resulted in me swatting the mug onto the hood of the car. The top popped off and a rivulet of coffee dripped along my car and down on to the gravel driveway.

Grumbling a fairly creative spiel of profanity under my breath, I picked up the cup and tossed it into the passenger seat. Of course that left a new splatter of coffee across the upholstery, but I forced myself to ignore it. There was already nothing I could do about the stream of coffee going down my hood. I might as well add some coffee fragrance to the inside of the car as well.

Everything that happened that morning was minor, but all the little things were building up and I felt frazzled by the time I parked in the parking deck near the office building where I was interviewing. I noticed a coffee shop down the block as I walked toward the building and thought maybe things were turning around. At least I could still have a cup of coffee and didn't need to brew it myself.

Nothing disastrous happened on my way to the coffee shop and when I stepped inside, I forced myself to take a moment and remember what was at stake. I had to calm down. There was no way I could go into my interview like this and expect to get the position. And this had to work. I'd used up nearly all my savings for the move and to pre-pay tuition for the first semester of school. It was critical I landed a good job if I was going to have any chance of staying in place and pursuing my dream.

That was going to take a good amount of coffee.

I was digging through my purse again when a man stepped in front of me in line. I couldn't even believe his brazenness. I wasn't standing off to the side or in some awkward position that made it logical to question whether I was among the masses waiting for coffee, or if I was just hovering for no particular purpose.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I'm in line.”

The man glanced over his shoulder at me, his eyes briefly flickering up and down me.

“Looks like it,” he said flatly.

He turned back around and I shook my head.

“You got in front of me. You need to get out and go to the back of the line.”

“You weren't standing close enough to the person in front of you. Besides, I need to get to work. My time is important,” the man said.

“And, what? I'm just drifting around through existence without any direction?”

“I really wouldn't know,” he said, not bothering to turn back around to look at me.

I didn't think it possible, but he had officially managed to put me in an even worse mood. He stepped up to the counter and made his coffee order. When he stepped aside, I closed the gap between myself and the cashier with what might have been a touch too much insistence. I ordered my coffee and glanced over at the pastry menu.

“An apple fritter sounds delicious,” I said. “Go ahead and add in one of those.”

“I'm sorry,” the cashier said. “We are actually out of apple fritters. Is there something else I could get you?”

I shook my head. This was definitely not my day and I wasn't going to tempt fate by asking for anything else. Whatever good possibilities I might have left, I needed to shore up and keep for the interview. The woman behind the counter let me know they had run out of to-go cups and asked me to step to the side to wait. I nodded and stepped over to allow easier access for everybody else in line.

Another employee of the coffee shop took a stack of to-go cops and unwrapped the plastic from around them. He sat several out on the counter and everyone who had ordered coffee and didn't get a cup snatched one. I went over to the bank of coffee machines on the wall and pressed the button for the darkest brew of coffee they carried. It needed to replace not only the coffee I'd managed to spill down the front of my car, but any other cups I might have tipped back if I got out of bed early enough.

I wasn't the type to have a set way I drank my coffee. At home I either drank it black or poured a little bit of milk in it, depending on my mood. But when I was at a coffee shop, all bets were off. Sometimes I went crazy with the creamers or added far too much sugar just because I could. That was the mission of the morning. I figured if I put enough sugar in my coffee, it would give me a boost and I would be able to get through the interview more smoothly.

But one thing about adding sugar to coffee is it needs to be stirred. Which is going to be fairly difficult considering there were no coffee stirrers at the condiment table. The man who cut in front of me in line grabbed the last one before I had a chance.

Before I could say anything to him, one of the servers called an order for an apple fritter out over the voices of everyone waiting. I looked over at the counter and watched, blood boiling, as the man swaggered up to the counter and took the bag.

Everything from the hint of a smirk on his face to his grungy sweatpants and sleeveless shirt pissed me off. I checked the time and saw I’d gotten back on track. I had the time to get back in line and order a pastry. A few minutes later, I made my way down the sidewalk toward the office building. I ate the chocolate chip muffin that was the only even slightly appealing option left and washed it down with coffee.

Some of the nerves started to return as I got close to the building. But they dissipated, replaced by aggravation, when I looked up and saw the revolving glass door. The man from the coffee shop stepped right in front of me to walk through the door. He looked at me before stepping in, not bothering to let me go ahead or to hold the door for me.

Who the hell did this man think he was? Not only was he being so exceptionally rude and discourteous to me, but just his appearance rubbed me the wrong way. His clothes suggested to me he was a maintenance worker. Not that that put him beneath me or made him any less than me. But it did make it seem out of place and suggested to his character that he was just roaming around the office building looking like that. The office was a professional environment and he should have had more respect for it than too be seen like that.

When I got inside, I approached the large curved desk set in the middle of the lobby. Our receptionist looked up at me and smiled.

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