“So, listen. Someday, when we get you out of that elevator, would you, uh… maybe you’d want to, uh… I dunno, grab a coffee or something with me?”
“Sorry, what? I mean ‘fuck you, what?’ I mean… yes! That actually sounds really… “
EEEENG! EEEENG! EEEENG!
And that is the moment when the alarms start sounding full force.
“Damn, that’s loud!”
“What?”
“I said, damn, that’s loud! Is it just in the elevator or out there too?”
“It’s out here too! Looks like people are evacuating. Fire drill? Maybe a delayed reaction to you pressing all the buttons?”
“What if it’s a real fire! Shit, what am I gonna do stuck in here?”
“Don’t worry, I won’t leave the building without you.”
Suddenly, another far less delicious male voice is speaking outside the elevator.
“Sir, you need to leave the building immediately.”
“Understood. But there’s a woman trapped in the elevator.”
“We know. Hence the reason we’re here.”
“A little late, don’t you think? She’s been pressing all the buttons for over ten minutes now.”
“Oh, you’re never supposed to press ALL the buttons.”
“I know that! I know!” I squeal from inside the elevator.
EEEENG! EEEENG! EEEENG!
Hey, uh…gosh, I don’t even know your name. What’s your name?”
“Calliope!”
“What-uh-pee?”
“Calliope!”
EEEENG! EEEENG! EEEENG!
“What-uh-pee?”
“Stop saying what-uh-pee!”
“Sorry, I can’t hear you over the alarm. But the firemen are here to get you out!”
“What?”
“The firemen are going to get you out!”
“Sir, you really need to evacuate immediately.”
“Dude, I get it. I get it. They’re making me evacuate immediately! So, I’ll, uh, I’ll meet you outside on the front lawn, okay?”
EEEENG! EEEENG! EEEENG!
“By the young fawn!?”
“Yup, on the front lawn! Oh, and my name is Ralph!”
“Your name is Alf?”
“Ralph!”
“Alf?”
“Yup, Ralph!
EEEENG! EEEENG! EEEENG!
“I’ll meet you on the front lawn. It’s been, uh… I’ve really, uh… You seem like a such a—”
“Alright, that’s enough. Out of our way, Romeo.”
The next thing I know, the doors are being pried open, a fireman in full bunker gear is staring at me with his hand outstretched, and the snarky jollyman with the rumbly voice is nowhere to be seen.
Chapter Two
Well, whaddaya know. I waited for him for a full thirty minutes and “Alf”, the elevator man, never showed. What a doof. Why tell me to meet you and then pull a no-show? Maybe I heard him wrong? Maybe the place where I waited was wrong? Nah. It looks like I just plain read our chemistry wrong.
Chemistry was never my thing. Whatever. I shake it off like a one-woman Taylor Swift anthem.
Now, don’t go rolling your eyes at my mention of Tay-Tay. I was judgy about her too until I watched her Miss Americana documentary a few months ago. And now? Now, I want to sip sauvignon blanc with Miss Swift and tell her all my secrets forever. We ladies have to build each other up, don’t you think? Instead of tearing each other down? Hell yeah, we do.
“Alright. Room 514… Room 514… Ah, there it is.”
I’m finally upstairs—after taking the stairs, thank you very much—and am rapidly approaching Room 514. I check the time on my phone. Sweet! Still a solid fifteen minutes before go-time. Not bad for being trapped in an elevator, then being swindled into a meet-cute that was neither meet nor cute. Meaning we did not actually meet, and that shit he pulled on me was not cute. You get what I’m trying to say? Ugh, I’m nervous. I’m not usually nervous in new situations. But this job? It means everything to me, and I desperately want to kick ass from minute one. Which, obviously, I will.
“Deep breath… aaaaaand go.”
I walk into Room 514 with supreme—albeit feigned—confidence and instantly lock eyes with some lone burly man sitting at the end of the conference table. He’s wearing black Carhartt work pants covered in saw dust and sipping on a coffee from a Styrofoam cup that he clearly got from the stack set up in the corner alongside some delicious looking donuts. Styrofoam in this day and age? Oh, hell no. The visitor suggestion box will definitely be hearing from me on behalf of the environment, ASAP.
I take in the burly man again, who is making no attempt to speak to me. Huh. He doesn’t look like a scientist. Or a curator. Or a museumgoer of any kind, for that matter. Oh geez, that is really shallow and uppity and just plain lame of me. You can’t tell anything by looking at someone’s appearance. Lord knows I hate it when people spot my freckled nose and my round cheeks and call me “cute and innocent.” FYI: want to hop directly on my shit list? Tell me I look cute and innocent. And now here I am, judging this man by his appearance. For all I know, he could be a huge museum benefactor. He could be the lead excavator on Dr. Knowles’ next dinosaur dig. Hell, he could be my Alf. My Alf? Ew. Scratch the my. Never said it. Dammit, why am I still thinking about that guy?
Burly man stands and finally opens his burly mouth to speak.
“Bruce, hi.”
Nope. Definitely not Alf. Could this possibly be this guy’s real voice?
“Am I… in the right room?”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“Which rooooooom are you looking for?”
Is it me, or is this guy being super smarmy? Don’t worry. I’m well acquainted with smarm. Best way to counteract smarm is with prim professionalism.
“Orientation for The Trix and Monty Project.”
“This here be that room then. The others should be here shortly. Unfortunately.”
Oh no, he didn’t. This punk just looked me up and down!
“Bruce, was it?”
“I don’t know. Was it?”
“Speak to me in that suggestive tone one more time or dare to drift your eyes lower than my nose, and I’ll report you to your superior.”