Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
There was. I read it.
Basically, they’re trying to foster a more collaborative work environment, especially among new hires who are just getting their feet wet in a professional setting. They feel like this will cut down on depression and anxiety in first-year associates, which like, okay thank you for taking my mental health into consideration, but could we possibly go back to the drawing board because this is my literal nightmare!
In the office, there are two desks facing each other. Kendra took the larger one—the one that was obviously here before they converted the space to accommodate two attorneys. My desk is made from flimsy particle board (at best) and shoved in the corner as an afterthought.
There was no discussion about who would go where. After Sophie left, Kendra plopped her bag on the larger desk and immediately went around to open her brand-new work-issued laptop. We each got one.
“This is ridiculous that they have us both in here,” she bit out in anger.
“I agree.”
But no more conversation came from that little bonding experience. We’ve been sitting in ominous silence ever since while we configure our computers and get through a few HR modules. We’ve left the door open intentionally. Our office is right by the break room, which seems to get a lot of foot traffic. Closing the door would reduce the noise, but then…we’d really be stuck in here together, and I definitely don’t want that. Kendra almost scares me more than Hudson if I’m being honest.
I’m just completing one of my HR modules, eager to cross it off my to-do list, when I hear a familiar booming laugh out in the hall and my heart simultaneously soars and sinks.
My dad—God love him—is about to make my life ten times worse. His timing is impeccably bad. Though Kendra and I have been mostly silent for the last few hours, it seemed like here within the last few minutes, things were starting to thaw between us as evidenced by the fact that when I sneezed a moment ago, we exchanged your classic “Bless you” and “Thanks”—which seemed really promising.
I was wondering when this was going to happen. I imagined a million different scenarios in which my dad could simultaneously celebrate, humiliate, and torture me all in the name of familial love. Examples include but are not limited to this set of things he’s already proven capable of doing in the past:
On my first date to the movies as a fourteen-year-old, when the boy (and his mom) came to pick me up, my dad made us pose for a fifteen-minute photoshoot for a commemorative scrapbook he’d completed by the time I got home at 9:00 p.m.
On my sixteenth birthday, he came to my school and sang “Happy Birthday” to me over the PA system. Accompanied by my gym teacher Mr. Rollins.
When I got accepted into undergrad at Cornell, he came to my afterschool job at the ice cream shop dressed up as “Touchdown” aka Big Red Bear, holding up a “Go Scarlett Go” banner.
I’m his youngest child and his only daughter. He was never going to be hands-off with me the way he was with my older brothers. I’m honestly surprised he’s lasted this long before coming to surprise me. Almost 1:00 p.m.? For him, that’s showing real restraint.
I barely have time to brace myself, and unfortunately, I don’t get the chance to pre-apologize to Kendra for whatever is about to go down before my dad turns the corner with his phone held out right in front of his face, and oh, look at that—he’s already taking pictures of me.
How do I know? The flash is on and blinking about every half second. He’s going to have seven hundred versions of me wearing a dumb expression as I try to yank his phone out of his hands.
“Dad!”
He’s roped his two assistants into this too—Janice and Linda. Janice holds up a multi-tiered cake that might have been stolen from someone’s wedding it’s so insanely huge. Linda is holding enough balloons that a) I can’t see her face and b) I’m genuinely concerned she’s having a hard time keeping her feet on the ground. We’re about to have to call maintenance for a ladder to get her down from the ceiling.
“This is a lot, even for you,” I say drolly.
He laughs before obtusely asking Janice to snap a photo of us.
“Dad, her hands are full. So are Linda’s.”
Unperturbed, he turns to Kendra. “Right. Okay, here. Would you mind taking a picture?”
Kendra has to really battle with herself over her reply to this question. She doesn’t want to have to give in and be nice to my father and, by extension, me, but she certainly can’t be rude to the owner of the company. There’s really only one choice. I watch her force that smile and give her best enthusiastic nod. “Sure thing! This is so sweet of you!”