Colin stepped out of the shower, and smiled at the fogged up mirror in front of him. Fog meant that Colin didn’t have to face himself for another day. Fog meant that Colin could have a slice of pizza that night and not feel like a disgusting pig. Fog meant that every bump and curve in the reflection could be blamed on a distorted view; this was not the real thing. He went to his room, put on his nicest suit, grabbed a briefcase that contained his lunch and a copy of a fag rag he had picked up last week, and headed out the door. Colin enjoyed carrying his personal items in a briefcase; he relished in tricking the world into thinking he was a respectable, upstanding citizen. Living in a large city meant putting appearances first, as 90% of Colin’s regular interactions with other people lasted fewer than two seconds. Appearances were easy,
“Well, they’re mostly easy,” Colin thought as he walked to his first interview that day, “they’re easy enough for getting my foot in the door. Then I need to worry about what I’m going to do once I’m standing in the room.” One of the many advantages of walking for a commute meant that Colin could run typical interview answers in his had as he traveled without worrying about being rear-ended.
“Unless the guy at least buys me dinner first,” Colin smirked. He wanted a car badly, but that would have to wait for a time when he had a regular source of income. This would be his eighth interview, and after lucky number seven had proved as useless as the six before it, Colin was anticipating a ninth to follow. The job was in Human Resources, and the only thing that set it apart from the thousand other shitty jobs on job listings websites was that it required next-to-no experience. “Perfect!” Colin had thought as he browsed jobs between porn sites. Underwear around his ankles, he filled out a brief application, submitted his resume, and got back to business.
The office was on the thirty-fourth floor of a building that looked surprisingly little like the ones adjacent, which Colin decided to take as a good sign. After going through dozens of job applications, Colin started to look for good signs wherever he went. Dogs peeing on fire hydrants represented him marking his territory on that block. Newspapers blowing up onto his legs meant that opportunities were throwing themselves at him. When bums spat at him for telling them to fuck off,
“I don’t have any money! That’s why I’m out on the streets right now!” Colin remembered his mother telling him that his aunts were spitting on him for good luck. As soon as he stepped inside the building, away from the denied hobo, Colin whispered “thank you”, and quickened his pace to the elevator. Elevators were another favourite of Colin’s: they held nearly limitless opportunities to screw with people. He hadn’t had beans the night before, so his options were cut by half, but he had one trick he hadn’t used in a while that was calling for a nostalgic visit. He boarded with another man that looked dumb enough to be happy with a desk job for the next thirty years, and a cute girl that could probably achieve hot status if only she would let a guy fuck her with the lights on. They boarded as people always tend to: tall in the back, small in the front. Colin always wondered, “Is the view of the front of the elevator was spectacular that people subconsciously organize themselves to give everyone a decent view?” The uptight cutie pushed 37, then looked behind in a way that screamed,
“Tell me what floor you’re going to right now or I stand in front of the buttons, we go to thirty-seven together, and you take a different elevator back down if you have to.”
Colin squeaked out a “thirty-four, thanks honey,” with the best lisp he could throw onto his voice. “Honestly,” he thought, “in high school I had to talk an octave lower just to keep people from beating me up. Now I have to play my fabulous up?” The thumbtack next to him said, “me too” with about a quarter of the expression Colin would have considered using.
“This guy’s my competition? Oh sweet jesus, screwing with him is going to be more fun than I thought!” Colin lined himself up on doorknob’s left, putting Ice Princess Barbie between and ahead of them. He let the first twenty-two floors pass by uneventfully, then put his simple yet effective plan into action. It required almost no effort on his part, and the best part was that given his present company, the dialogue would flow faster than lube onto a twink’s asshole. Paper weight next to him didn’t have the business brains to keep his hands neatly folded in front of him, so Colin coughed, leaned in to his right, and jerked his knee forward, propelling matchbox’s meaty hand onto Pro-feminism Polly Pocket’s ass with a resounding slap that was louder than Colin could have dreamed. All hell broke loose at floor twenty-four, as the wishes-she-was-still-a-virgin whipped around,
“Who the hell just thought they could get away with that?” Her voice was hardly above a whisper, but Colin still felt the individual letters from her question stab at his face like icicles. The gear froze, unsure of how to get through eight more floors without being kneed in the groin, and unfortunately for him, Colin was more than ready to help her out.
“Sweety, if I wanted a piece of ass in this elevator, I wouldn’t have needed to disturb you, I promise.” Colin put his hands up in a surrendering position, and for added effect, extended his wrists just a bit more than he usually would. Colin knew his soft-skulled rival couldn’t use the same alibi, and so when floor 29 approached and passed the elevator, the bitch sprung into action.
“I’ve been working here for seven years,” each word was punctuated with a slap to the sap’s arm or chest, “and of all the shit I’ve endured, having a guy slap my ass will never get to me!” His inflated proportions were his saving grace; else his face could have ended up even uglier than it already was. He just stood there, taking each hit like a bony punching bag, and Colin was almost disappointed he wasn’t fighting back.
“Come on, I know you’re dumb, but can you at least try to blame me? My knee totally bumped you! Think man, think!” Colin didn’t get his satisfying exchange by the time the elevator dinged, and he jumped out of the elevator, followed closely by his burnt-out shell of a brick wall. Colin waved a helpful goodbye to his latest victim as she tried to redefine the pleat in her skirt and readjust her bun, muttering vulgarities the whole time. He turned to his newfound friend, extended a warm handshake, and said, “dude, you know those tight ass bitches. You bump into them by accident and they blow up in your face. Just ignore her, I bet she just needs to get laid.” Lurch smiled awkwardly, and walked with Colin to the front desk, “so, are you here for the interview too? I’m just glad I hardly had to lie on my resume about relevant past experience!” Exaggerating his circumstances was one of Colin’s favourite tactics to mess with fellow interviewees, but it was true that there were two or three businesses listed on his resume that would lead the inquirer to abandoned factories in New Jersey.
“Actually,” the hulk spoke in a much more intelligent voice than Colin remembered hearing on the first floor, and suddenly his expression adjusted itself into a much more thoughtful way, “I’m here to conduct interviews today. But I’m glad we have plenty to discuss about your application now.” Paul Upton strode past the front desk, and walked into the din of the office. Colin stood in a deflated shock until the receptionist caught his attention,
“Mr. Lewis will see you in a few minutes, please have a seat until he gives me the go-ahead.” The receptionist couldn’t have been older than 21, and the way his hair was gelled into a perfect faux hawk told Colin he had a chance to redeem himself with this company before he had to explain his enormous fuck-up of admitting to lying on a resume.
“Great, thanks,” Colin put an extra emphasis on his exhalation of the thanks, hoping it would catch his ear. Years of picking up fresh meat had taught him the verbal cues they liked most, and this receptionist was far from an exception. They made brief eye contact, a double take, and then Colin went in for the kill with a triple take. After that third eye contact, Colin set down his briefcase of ideas to spend time with his new friend, and made a move, “you know, I actually have worked at some decent places. My apartment proves it, and if you could see to it that a totally bad word isn’t put in for me, I’m sure I could show you how nice the furniture is, too.” Colin wasted no time. He didn’t know how much time he would have before this interview started, and if he could knock out two birds today, he would allow himself a second slice of guilt-free pizza that night. He underestimated the receptionist, though: he was twenty-four, and had faced too many horny businessmen to be flattered by invitations to penthouse apartments anymore. He felt like having some fun with Colin, though.
“I’m sure your view is spectacular, but how big are we talking?” The coy young vagabond was his best act, and he used it whenever he could, “I have to know what I’m getting myself into before I give something as valuable as my word.” Innuendos hit a soft spot with Colin, and so he kept pushing his luck,
“Oh, it’s nothing ridiculously oversized, but believe me, I’ve gotten some gasps when I first unveil it.” Colin smiled, and leaned in a bit toward the desk. The receptionist smiled back, showing enough teeth to make Colin suspect something wasn’t right, when suddenly the telephone buzzed.
“Oh, would you look at that, Mr. Lewis is ready for you. I guess I’ll have to keep your apartment waiting. I hope it doesn’t burst with expensive furniture while waiting.” The receptionist then rolled his chair away from Colin, and busied himself with several important-looking documents. Colin, dumbfounded for the second time in that reception area, gave himself a few seconds to realize he was missing something in his left hand.
“Right, my briefcase.” His legs sputtered across the floor to grab his bag, and as he walked into the main office, the receptionists shot out a final call of,
“Let’s hope Mr. Lewis doesn’t ask you for a pen, and make you open that thing.”
“Damn it,” Colin cursed himself. The receptionist had to be bluffing. There was no way he knew about the stashed copy of Balls n’ Chains. And although he flinched for half a second, he walked on as confident as he could muster. The hallway to Mr. Lewis’s office was therapeutic for Colin. No one knew him well enough to judge him, and he reveled in his series of under-two-second interactions. He knocked on the polished wooden door, and entered.
Mr. Lewis was sitting behind a slightly unimpressive desk, and for a moment, Colin relaxed. “This guy isn’t as much of a hotshot as I thought he was!” And as Colin took a step towards his interviewer, his briefcase bumped against a filing cabinet along the way, knocking the latch open. Colin watched in slow motion as his apple, sandwich, bag of chips, and finally, his afternoon delight, spilled out onto the Persian rug Mr. Lewis’s decorators had highly recommended. Colin froze, looked at Mr. Lewis, then noticed the magazine was open to an interview with an enthusiastic BDSM porn star on set of his latest film. “Well, I think I’ve made all the impression I can for one day, so look back over my application, and I look forward to hearing from you soon!” Colin gathered his things, snapped the clasp on his briefcase shut, and walked out of the office with almost as much dignity as he had coming in. He strode past the receptionist, grabbed an elevator heading down, and let one rip as he got to the first floor.
Word count: 2,107
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