'Deep breaths,' I thought as I tried to calm myself down, but it wasn't working. I was going to be late for my first day of work at my first ever job, and I was pissed off.
This is what it feels like to be part of the workforce, I guess. I'll just grind my way through this entry-level position in features at The Daily Bugle, because I know I'll be covering politics for The Wall Street Journal within 10 years. My ambition will not allow anything less.
My writing ability is unparalleled, as my 4.0 Major GPA in Journalism at Baruch College clearly shows (my overall GPA was only 3.3, blame it on those fucking meaningless Science and French classes). All these people at The Daily Bugle will become anonymous to me when I'm on top of the journalism industry. At least, that's what I thought before I arrived at the office.
After my train ride from hell concluded I jogged up the stairs and was blasted by the cold November air. I ran all the way to the office building on the corner of Elm St. and 9th Av, adjusted my tie, and checked the time. 9:05 my watch read, and I cursed under my breath as I walked in.
After quickly checking in with security I took the elevator to the 11th floor, where the headquarters of The Daily Bugle was located. I left the elevator and walked through what seemed like an endless hallway until I reached the open doorway to the office.
I was immediately greeted by Roxanne, the woman in charge of the features department and the same person who conducted my job interview last week. She came off as a little simple but I liked that; it's easier to get your way with people like this.
"Hi!" she said rather loudly considering the office was deathly quiet, "Welcome to The Bugle!"
"Sorry I'm late," I started before Roxanne interrupted me.
"No problem!" she said. "C'mon let me introduce you to the staff!"
I was introduced to a group of mostly people my age probably looking to cut their teeth at a bottom-level publication before moving on just like me. Boring.
Roxanne guided me to a corner cubicle but stopped short and said, "This is the cubicle you'll be working at. You'll be sharing it with Denise for now, she's an intern that'll be here until her college semester ends next month."
Roxanne lowered her voice and continued, "she's very shy, try to make her feel comfortable."
I wasn't happy with this development; bad enough I have to slog my way through a features job, now I've got to babysit too? Fucking bullshit.
Roxanne continued, now at her normal volume, "Anyway, if you need anything give a shout, I'm just around the corner!" and she headed toward her cubicle.
I stepped into my cubicle and took off my jacket by the available computer. Strangely, Denise did not stop what she was doing to introduce herself. I turned my computer on then went to Denise's side of the cubicle.
"Um, hello?" I said and Denise turned in her chair to face me. That's when I laid my eyes on the most beautiful women I've ever met in my life.
Denise's eyes were the first thing I noticed; they were big and blue as the ocean, they had a near-hypnotic quality to them. She had wavy blonde hair that looked like she just had it done professionally; it looked vibrant and bouncy. And speaking of bouncy, her breasts were almost jumping off her chest they were so perky and big (just the way I liked them).
She stood up out of her chair, extended her hand and said, "Hi, I'm Denise."
She was about my height and very thin. Her skin was a beautiful shade of peach. She was wearing a black dress with white trim that was formfitting, to put it nicely. She had curves that would make runway models jealous. I could tell she was very shy; she did not want to make eye contact as I introduced myself.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't like to brag but I wanted to learn more about Denise, so I steered the conversation that way.
"So where do you go to school?" I asked.
"Hunter College," she replied, "I'm a junior."
"I went to Baruch, also a city college! Small world, huh?" I said.
I may be a great writer but I suck at small talk. Denise nodded and said nothing but I wasn't going to give up that easily.
I continued to pry for a few minutes and soon I got her phone number, Facebook and Twitter. Later that night I investigated her like she was a slimy politician I needed to get dirt on. I was possessed to find out everything I could about her.
