Rachel Burke - Love Bites

When the interview was finally over, Herd handed me his business card and frowned when I placed it in my purse.

“You know, you should really buy a briefcase,” he scoffed in a patronizing tone. “Placing business cards in a purse is just so… unprofessional.” He laughed mockingly and shook his head, having his own little private business joke with himself. “And also, Justine, you should always wear a suit to an interview.” He looked me up and down like I was a toddler who’d dressed herself for the first time. I followed his gaze, glancing down at my black-collared shirt and charcoal dress pants. Judging by his expression, you would’ve thought I’d shown up dressed for a hip-hop video.

As I headed toward the elevator, I passed by the work area, where all the insurance agents sat next to each other in tiny cubicles, wearing blazers and headsets. Their desks were lined with tiny bags of junk food. Most of them were overweight. They looked tired. I felt sad for them.

Herd shook my hand goodbye at the elevator, but I no longer saw him as good-looking. I saw him as a man with a condescending, insincere laugh, who had bags under his eyes from working sixty hours a week. A man with no social life and no family, only a mahogany desk and an oversized briefcase. A man who owned an expensive house with expensive things that never got used.

It’s funny how, in the course of thirty minutes, you can learn very, very quickly what you want in life. And, more importantly, what you don’t want.

As a precaution, I went out and bought a suit. I refused to be humiliated twice. Luckily, I didn’t need it, as Sphinx was as far from a suit shop as you could get.

Sphinx’s office was located in Playa Del Rey, which was about a 20-minute drive from my apartment in West LA. Their lobby was like a Toys-R-Us. The walls were covered with action figures and game posters. A giant candy bowl sat on the receptionist’s desk. As I filled out my application, I continued to sneak glances at a Reese’s peanut-butter cup that was taunting me from the corner of the dish. The receptionist finally noticed and offered me the dish. I liked the place already.

I watched the employees flow in and out of the lobby as I waited for my interview. None of them were dressed professionally. In fact, it was the complete opposite. Some of them had facial piercings and tattoos. They reminded me of the people who worked at Hot Topic when Renee and I shopped there in high school. A petite Asian girl wearing tights, jean shorts and boots skipped through the lobby, stealing a Kit-Kat from the candy bowl. I smiled at her.

After giving my application to the receptionist, a man appeared and led me to the interview room. He introduced himself as Manuel Mendoza, the Human Resources Manager. He was short and stocky, with a young face. Latino, I assumed by his name and dark features. He wore a gray t-shirt, jeans, and converse sneakers. He did not refer to himself as an acronym.

My interview was the complete opposite of HCG’s. It didn’t feel like an interview at all. Manuel and I briefly discussed the position and my college courses, then he brought me to the “gaming room,” which held several flat-screen TV’s hooked up to gaming consoles and a few old-school arcade games. I confessed that I didn’t play video games. He didn’t care. We played anyway. It was the best interview of my life.

After Manuel beat me at a round of virtual sword-fighting, he brought me back to the interview room and introduced me to Vincent Seminari, Sphinx’s Marketing Director. Manuel had warned me that Vincent was the man to impress, as he would be my future boss. Vincent had dark eyes, a long nose that gave him character, and spoke with a hint of an Italian accent. I guessed that he was probably in his early to mid-forties. He also wore jeans and informed me that everyone at Sphinx did. He joked that I was the “best-dressed person there.” I felt foolish in my stupid suit. He told me that most of the employees began work at 10am and everyone received four weeks of paid vacation annually.

I was in my glory.

After the interview, Vincent gave me a tour of the building. The workstations were gorgeous. Sphinx occupied the seventh floor of the building, a bright, beautiful space with an incredible view of the city. There were no cubicles, only wide tables in the shape of a U, where everyone sat next to each other. Open and free. It was what every company should be.

As Vincent and I walked around, I noticed that everyone seemed happy. Two of the employees shot Nerf guns at each other from across the room. The break room had free coffee, snacks, and soda. The CEO walked through, clutching a skateboard in his right hand. It was like being in a world where no one grew up.

Before we reached the elevator, I noticed a small office that had paper taped over the window. I turned to Vincent, pointing to the room. Before I could say anything, he shook his head, laughing.

“You don’t want to go in there,” he insisted.

“Why not?” I asked.

“We call that the ‘Lactation Station’.”

“The what?”

“Lactation Station,” he repeated, lowering his voice to a whisper. “It’s the breastfeeding room.”

I had never laughed so hard in my life.

I make lists. Correction, I’m a compulsive list-maker. I write everything down – to-do lists, shopping lists, future goals. And sometimes, when I’m down, I make them for simple inspirational reminders.

I stared at the piece of my paper in my hand for a long time; the new list that I would hang on my fridge and read every day as a positive reminder.

Why I Moved Back to Boston:

That was as far as I’d got.

Okay, so I wasn’t adjusting well. It was November. I was freezing. My parents had a cottage in Cape Cod that they rented out during the summer, so they were letting me live there rent-free until summer rolled around again. Cape Cod was great in the summer, but in the winter it was the boonies. I had to drive 45 minutes to reach civilization, and even then, the only nightlife that existed on the south shore was at Irish pubs. I hated beer. I hated sports. I rarely ate meat. That didn’t leave me many options. If I tried to order a hummus wrap and a Champagne Royale at one of the local bars, they’d think I was insane.

My cell phone rang before I could attempt to continue the list. I looked down at the ID and felt a slight pang of disappointment. I had been home for almost four months, and every time my phone rang, I still hoped it was him.

It never was.

“Hey girl,” I answered.

“Hey J,” Renee said on the other end. “You still coming to Dylan’s show tonight?”

Shit. I had forgotten all about it. Renee’s fiancé, Dylan, was the singer in a local band, and she had told me about the show weeks ago. I glanced down at my pajama pants. “Yeah,” I answered. “Of course.”

“You forgot, didn’t you?”

“Yup.” Renee always knew when I was lying. There was no point in covering it up. “What time does it start?”

“They go on at ten. They’re playing the downstairs room at the Middle East, not upstairs. I’m going to ride in with Dylan so just call me when you get there and I’ll come meet you.”

“Okay. See you soon.” I hung up and took a sip of coffee from the mug I’d been holding for the last 20 minutes. I picked up the piece of paper again.

Why I Moved Back to Boston:

#1 – Renee is here. She is my other half. I need her in my life.