Bentley Little: The Ignored

“Excuse me,” I said.

The guard looked at me and through me, not seeming to notice my presence. He nodded to an overweight man with thick horn-rimmed glasses. “Jerry.”

“Excuse me,” I said again, louder this time.

The guard’s eyes focused on my face. “Yes?”

“I’m a new employee. I just got hired, and I’m not sure where I should — ”

He motioned toward the elevator with his head. “Take the elevator to Personnel. Third floor.”

It was exactly what he had told me last time, when I’d come for the interview, and I was about to say something to that effect, jokingly, but he had already dismissed me in his mind, again looking past me to the other employees entering the lobby.

I thanked him, though he wasn’t listening, and walked back to the elevator.

Two women were already waiting for the elevator, one in her early thirties, one in her mid-forties. They were discussing the younger one’s lack of sexual interest in her husband. “It’s not that I don’t love him,” the woman said. “But I just don’t seem to be able to come with him anymore. I pretend I do — I don’t want to hurt his feelings and give him some kind of confidence problem — but I just don’t feel it. I usually wait until he’s asleep and then do it myself.”

“These things go in cycles,” the older woman told her. “Your interest’ll be back. Don’t worry.”

“What am I supposed to do until then? Have an affair?”

“Just close your eyes and pretend he’s someone else.” The woman paused. “Someone bigger.”

They both laughed.

I was standing right next to the younger woman, but I was close to both of them, and I could not believe that two strangers were talking like this in front of me. I felt embarrassed, and I kept my eyes on the descending lighted numbers above the elevator door.

A few seconds later, the door opened and the three of us walked in. The younger woman pushed the button for the fifth floor; I pushed the button for the third.

The older woman started talking about her husband’s impotence.

I was grateful when the elevator door opened on the third floor, and I quickly stepped out.

There were five people behind the counter in Personnel: two middle-aged men seated at computer terminals; an elderly woman standing in front of a desk, taking a sack lunch out of her purse; another elderly woman sitting at another desk, and a pretty brunette girl about my age standing next to the counter itself.

I looked for Mr. Kearns, and although I didn’t remember which interviewer he was, there was no one behind the counter who looked even vaguely familiar. I walked across the floor, stepped in front of the girl. “Hello,” I said. “My name’s Bob Jones. I — ”

She smiled at me. “We’ve been waiting for you, Mr. Jones.”

I’m late, I thought. It’s my first day, and I’m late.

But the girl continued to smile, and I realized as she handed me a manila envelope that it was not even eight o’clock yet. How could I be late? They’d probably been waiting for me because I was the only new employee they had today.

I opened the envelope. Inside was a paperback-sized booklet titled AII Employee Handbook , several pamphlets, a pen, and a sheaf of forms that I was apparently supposed to fill out.

“There are a few formalities we have to get out of the way before you go upstairs and meet Mr. Banks. You have to fill out a W-4 form, medical, dental, and life insurance applications, a drug-free oath, and additional information for our personnel file that did not appear on your application.” The girl walked through a small gate and stepped out from behind the counter. “We also have what we call our Initiation Program for new hirees. It’s not an official presentation or anything, but there’s a video that runs about a half hour and an accompanying survey. You’ll find the survey form in the packet I gave you.”

I stared at her blankly, and she laughed lightly. “I know that’s an awful lot to absorb at once, but don’t worry. Right now, we’ll just go down to the conference room, and you can relax and watch the video. Afterward, I’ll go through all the forms and everything with you. By the way, my name’s Lisa.” She smiled at me, then caught the eye of one of the elderly women behind the counter and pointed down the hall. The other woman nodded back.

She led me down the same hallway in which I’d sat while waiting for my interview, and I glanced at the closed door to the interview room as we passed by. I still did not understand why I’d been hired. From the questions I’d been asked, I’d gathered that they were looking for someone knowledgeable about, or at least somewhat familiar with, computers. But I had no computer experience at all. Not only did I not know anything about them, I had no interest in knowing anything about them.

Was this all a huge mistake?

We continued down the hall and stopped in front of a closed door. Lisa pushed open the door, and we walked inside. “Have a seat,” she said.

The room was empty save for a long conference table, its attendant chairs and a combination television/VCR on a moveable metal stand near the table’s head. I pulled out a chair and sat down while Lisa turned on the TV and VCR. She made a show of it, exaggeratedly bending over, obviously aware of the way she filled out her stretch pants, and I could see the outline of her underwear against the material. “Okay,” she said. “Take your pen and survey form out of the packet. You’re going to need them at the end of the video.” She straightened. “I’ll be back down the hall at the counter. Just come and get me when you’re done, and I’ll help you fill out the necessary forms. You can leave the videotape on, but turn off the TV when you leave the room. Do you know how to turn it off?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“It’s this button here.” She pressed a red square at the lower left corner of the console. The television flicked off. She pressed the square again, and the TV snapped back to life. “I’ll see you in about half an hour.” She pressed a button on the VCR, then walked around the table. She touched my shoulder as she passed by, patted it, and then she was out the door, closing it behind her.

I leaned back in my chair to watch the show, but I could tell after the first few minutes that I was not going to like it. The video was state-of-the-art industrial PR, but though it had the clean look and sophisticated techniques of a modern production, the narration and determinedly cheerful background music reminded me of those leftover educational films from the early 1960s that they’d shown at my grammar school. That depressed me. Nostalgia always depressed me, and I suppose that was why I never liked to think about the past. It wasn’t because it reminded me of what once was, but because it reminded me of what could have been. My past had not been that great, but my future was supposed to have been so.

My future was not supposed to be spent watching PR videos at Automated Interface, Inc.

I didn’t want to think about it. I refused to let myself think about it. I tried to tune out the sound track and concentrate on the images, but that didn’t work, and I found myself getting out of my chair, walking over to the window, and staring down at the parking lot until the video was over. I returned to the table as sound faded to silence and realized that I hadn’t paid attention to the survey question instructions at the end of the video, but I looked down at the form and it was pretty self-explanatory. I answered the questions on my own before turning off the TV and VCR, grabbing my packet, and walking back down the hall.

It took another twenty minutes to fill out the additional forms and answer the questions put to me by Lisa. Although I was required to fill out two pages of personal information for my health insurance, she told me that I had my choice of three plans and that the information would be forwarded to the insurance company of my choosing.