"We run a tight ship here, Ms Dremmer," the bald department head lectured from the front, and in the same pace he was storming along the corridor. Mr Wicklebimm couldn't be bothered to hold any door open for the young woman struggling to keep up.
"Do not think of your first day at work as a
first day
, but as
work
. There is no need for idleness just because your notepad still has all its sheets blank."
"Absolutely, sir," Jördis dared pipe up whilst hurrying behind her new supervisor, the crown of his amazingly smooth head like a beacon at her eye level.
Eventually they entered the open plane office she would be slaving in from now on. The short man came to an abrupt halt and snapped around.
"A corporate dress code is in effect. I advise to adhere to it."
He scrutinized her attire. Dark fitted blazer over white blouse, dark skirt ending three centimetres above the knee. Sensibly heeled court shoes.
"That will do."
He gave her way-too-blonde hair a disparaging look, but considered a comment to be beneath him.
"You remember your work place number?"
"Yes, sir; one-three---"
"Then you know where you should have been for five minutes."
Wicklebimm glanced at Jördis' dye accident again and went off to uphold his reign of terror elsewhere, leaving the youngster to her own devices.
"Bellend...!"
Jördis made her first careful steps into the cube farm, a blue-meets-grey maze wilfully designed to suck any residue of individuality out of the employees. Through the hustle and bustle she sought her way to her own personal holding cell. It, too, sported a cheerful non-colour framed by corporate-blue walls. Jördis sighed and dropped her handbag on the sterile desk.
"Could be worse..."
She just had to settle in. Some pictures, a funny mug. Maybe a tiny potted plant. Most certainly an emergency bottle of vodka in the lower drawer. No sooner had she booted up her desktop computer than a pretty redhead stuck her pretty red head over the cobalt coloured divider.
"Are you the new girl?" she chirped.
"I reckon. I'm Jördis."
She held up her hand, and the ginger took it. She had to stretch her arm over the shaky wall for that, only to go out of sight the next moment and reappear at the entrance to Jördis' cubicle.
"Hi, I'm Tessa!"
They shook hands again, a repetition as silly as cordial.
"Divi, meet our newest sister in crime!"
Over the edge of the divider opposite the entrance an oriental woman peered from the second neighbouring cube. Jördis had to contort on her chair to make eye contact, but the peculiarly named colleague quickly vanished again.
"Wait, I'm coming over!"
True to her word, she stood next to Tessa a mere twenty seconds later after having employed obscure rat runs through the farm. With both of them now blocking the exit, Jördis was properly cornered.
"Welcome to the galley. I'm Gretchen."
Hands were shaken again, this time in a more reserved fashion. Confused by a certain ethnic discrepancy between name and person and Tessa's use of a seemingly disconnected moniker, Jördis made a careful approach.
"I actually never met someone called Gretchen before."
"What is that supposed to mean? Just because I'm of Korean descent it means I am not allowed one of your precious old, white, rich names?"
"No, no---"
"Cultural appropriation doesn't feel so good that way around, does it?"
"Honestly, I..."
"Jördis," Tessa chimed in.
"... didn't mean it like that."
"She's taking the piss out of you, Jördis. Her name is Ji-eun, and she shouldn't be mean to rookies."
Ji-eun winked at the guilt-shaken new girl, otherwise still keeping a straight face.
"But everyone calls me Divi."
"'Divi'?"
"As in diversity. For every company photo I get dragged to the front row, together with Vihaan from Tech. Homepage background: me on a white board. Promo brochure: Vihaan wiring up servers. Christmas party picture: us wearing Father Christmas hats."
"That sounds... unthoughtful?"
Divi was clearly amused by her insecurity in regard to political correctness.
"You really have to toughen up, sweetie, if you want to survive here."
Ere Jördis could express her gratitude for this fundamental advice, the phone on her desk -- her phone now -- fell into a ringing fit. Tessa glanced at the extension displayed.
"Argh, you wanna answer that one."
Jördis brought the receiver to her ear and was actually capable of getting the first syllable of her surname in before being run over by Wicklebimm's demands. Pull the Larsson-files -- Production need them now. Make 400 copies of the F07s for HR till two. List me the handicaps of the
Claymore
board.
"You mean their disabilities, sir?"
"Their golf handicaps! And tell your colleagues I can see them fooling about!"
The line went dead with a finality that made Jördis wince.
"What did he say?" Tessa enquired whilst the platinum-blonde turned desperate to get her computer fully working.
"That he can see you, and that Production need the 'Larry'-files. What are F07s?"
"Oouh, he's put her on F07 duty...!" Tessa mocked benevolently.
"Wicklebimm is very protective of his F07s," Ji-eun followed.
Jördis pieced her composure back together.
"What kind of name is that anyway? Sounds like a Harry Potter villain."
"Never mind him -- we got a system on this floor." The Korean made an ensuring gesture.
"What do you mean?"
"We stick together. And if one botches up, all of us help out, and she makes it up to us later. Pricklebrimm doesn't need to know what Pricklebrimm doesn't need to know."
"You are explicitly welcome to join, if you want," Tessa offered with a sincere smile.
"Hell, yes!"
<~>
After 400 copies she still didn't fully comprehend the meaning of F07s, but at least HR would be content. Back in her cubicle, now without Tessa and "Gretchen", Jördis just resolved the "Larry" issue. Her two new friends had given vital pointers (