The Waiting Room

The waiting room was crowded. Mia Eaton wasn’t sure where to sit. She didn’t really want to get into anyone else’s personal space, but she didn’t have much of a choice. The receptionist barked at her, “I said you can take a seat.”

            Mia turned and smiled at her, having heard her the first time, but still pondering where to sit. Finally, she decided to take the chair between a large busted blonde and an older brunette who looked as nervous as Mia felt. It was a tight squeeze because the chairs were so close together. With her small build, it was easy to wedge her way in, but it was still uncomfortable. She sat with her legs squeezed together, her meager resume clutched tightly within the leather binder she’d borrowed from her neighbor, praying one of the girls sitting next to her was called back soon.

            “Linda McKay!” a short woman with a severe haircut shouted from the door next to the receptionist. An attractive redhead sitting across the room stood up and walked to the door her head held high as if she had plenty of experience applying for secretarial positions and knew exactly what to expect. Mia sucked in air. She did not.

            In fact, she’d never had any sort of secretarial job before at all. She’d dropped out of college after finishing her sophomore year to take care of her sick mother. She’d had to support both of them, too, and she’d done that by working as a cashier at a gas station near their home in a suburb of Chicago. But now that her mother had passed away, and Mia had sold everything in order to afford the first few months of rent on a small apartment, she knew it was now or never.

            She had been on a few interviews but not for secretarial positions. Just a sales and a custodial position she almost hoped she didn’t get. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sell water to a man dying in the dessert, and she wouldn’t want to clean up after the residents in the nursing home either. No, as badly as she needed a job, she sort of hoped it wouldn’t be any of those.

            Secretarial work seemed easy enough. She’d been a marketing major in college, before she’d been forced to drop out. She’d done well in her classes, so when she’d seen there was a secretarial opening at Whitaker and Whitaker Marketing Firm, she’d called right away. That was yesterday. They’d told her to be there at 3:00 today, and she’d arrived at 2:45. As many people as there were in the waiting room, she wondered how long it might take. Apparently, she hadn’t been the only one told to be there at that specific time.

            It didn’t take long for Linda McKay to come back out. She didn’t look nearly as confident walking back this way as she had when she was headed in. A few seconds later, the severe woman was back. “Bridgette Duncan!” she yelled.

            The girl a few chairs down from Mia stood. She was wearing a very short skirt, and the top three buttons of her blouse were unbuttoned. She had on heels that had to be at least six inches high and pencil thin.

            She didn’t even make it over to the door before the woman looked her up and down and said, “No.”

            Bridgette stood there for a second, as if she couldn’t quite believe her ears, but then she turned and slunk away. The woman shut the door, and Mia sucked in air, wondering what the woman done wrong. Had it been the outfit or something else?

            Mia definitely wasn’t wearing an outfit like that, though her clothes were nothing to be proud of. The beige skirt had been her mother’s, and it was a size or two too big. Mia had safety pinned it earlier that morning when she’d left her apartment. It seemed to be holding up even though she’d spent a great deal of time at a coffeeshop trying to find other places to apply. The white button down shirt she wore was her own, but she’d had it for a few years, and it was a little stretched. Still, she thought she looked nice. She’d touched up her makeup and brushed out her long black hair before she rode up to the sixty-ninth floor on the elevator.

            “Sandy Wilcox!” the woman shouted, the door hardly open this time.

            The blonde next to Mia got up, giving her a small amount of room for a moment, but then another girl walked in, checked with reception, and came to sit next to Mia, causing her to tense up again.

            A few people were staring at their phones, but Mia was too nervous to let go of her binder. Her bag was by her feet, and all she could think about was the worn spot on the leather toward the zipper. She almost didn’t realize her name was being called until the woman said it again. “Hello? Mia Eaton? Anyone?”

            “So sorry,” Mia said, shaking her head as she grabbed her belongings and stood, almost dropping her binder. She pulled her purse over her arm and tucked the binder under her arm and approached the door, certain she was about to be sent out the door like that poor woman in the stilettos.

            Severe Haircut looked her up and down, huffed, and gestured for her to follow behind.

            Mia took a deep breath and went through the door, praying she hadn’t already ruined her chances before she even got to the interview.