Note: Not in my book but maybe another down the road.
The elevator doors opened.
As soon as I stepped out of the elevator, I realized I was on the wrong floor. The sound of the doors closing behind me and the metallic ‘ding’ of the chime sounded the deathblow for my job interview.
The eight o’clock job interview should have begun five minutes ago. As my frustration level increased, I pushed the down button and waited. The job really wasn’t desirable anyway. The corporate world had chewed me up and spit me out. Why go back? As I stood there, all the workers in the cubicles close to the elevator started staring at me. Not just a ‘Didn’t you just get off the elevator?’ stare but something more. The stares seemed uncontrollable on their part and extremely uncomfortable for me.
My uneasiness must have become noticeable and some regained their composure and went back to work. Others continued their vigilant stare.
I wanted to yell, “Stop it!” but instead stood looking at the lit button then to the floor indicator.
A gravelly male voice above the office clatter, “Mr. Boyd.”
I continued to watch the floor indicator and pressed the button several times.
Louder, right behind me, “Mr. Boyd. Mr. Boyd!”
A large man in a brown plaid polyester suit, three feet behind me was looking directly at me. I turned to see if anyone was in my vicinity. No one else was there.
“Mr. Boyd, you are needed in a meeting.”
Confused but curious, I went along. Maybe there was a hidden camera somewhere.
Those who had been staring seemed relieved and several said, “Good morning, Mr. Boyd.”
Walking under the migraine-inducing fluorescent lights, past cubicle after cubicle, I received the same greeting, “Good morning, Mr. Boyd.”
I wanted to yell, “My name’s not Boyd!” Normally this would be my response. But something isn’t normal here. They think I’m someone else. It’s obvious this guy is a big whig and this could be kind of fun for awhile . . . maybe I’ll just see how this all plays out.
In the conference room, we went through introductions and received cards. All eyes were on me.
The lights dimmed and a projector began to whine softly. After an uncomfortable length of silence, someone spoke up. “Mr. Boyd, are you ready for the presentations?”
“Sure, proceed.”
One after the other presented computer-enhanced graphs and passed out packets of information. All seemed very convincing. No one suspected my total ignorance as to what they were talking about.
After every presentation, the same statement and question, “Thank you for the opportunity to present this information. Do you have any questions?”
“No, thank you and I will give this my full consideration.”
After the meeting, the “big guy” led the way talking constantly about the presentations and which of them he preferred. As we walked, I watched the coffee sloshing in his cup occasionally spill a drop or two. We stopped at a doorway leading into an office suite.
“I’ll let you get to work. Sorry for the early morning meeting. Let me know when you want to discuss it more.”
Another voice: “Mr. Boyd, I have several messages for you.”
This must be my office.
Walking past the secretary’s desk, she handed me several sheets of paper with phone numbers, notes and names. She informed me of upcoming meetings and reports due today. I thanked her and continued into the plush office.
What a view. I must make big bucks! Why is my office so much nicer than the rest of the offices?
Pictures; there must be pictures. I looked around and found several photos in a variety of expensive frames on the credenza. That’s me!
Is this me? . . . No! Is that my family? They look like snobs. I had never been in those places. This is weird. They think I am this guy!
In the office, I eased into a soft leather chair overlooking a clean, clutter-free desk, not sure what to do next. The room was cavernous with leather sofa, overstuffed chairs, original paintings, a big screen TV, and a wet bar.
I think I may be a jerk!
It’s been said everyone has a double somewhere somehow. At a distance, you can mistake a stranger for someone you know. You wave, and then as you get closer you realize you were mistaken and say, “Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”
I realized my double might be on his way. He was probably stuck in traffic, or some other delay. I had to get out of there.
I walked to the secretary’s desk and asked her to prepare a ten percent pay raise for all non-executive staff, and an immediate bonus of $1,000 for all secretaries and maintenance staff. She got the CFO on the line and I asked him to take care of it and not to bother me with the details. I gave him full authority to proceed. My secretary was ecstatic.
Under my direction, she sent an “all staff” email, stating I was going to be remodeling and if anyone wanted anything out of my office to come get it now.
Leaning over, I laid a big kiss on her lips and said, “Next time I see you, I expect one in return. I have to go downstairs for a bit.”
I made my way through the appreciative crowd making their way to my office; a riot had already started.
Soon, I was alone at the elevator.
I pushed the button. The elevator doors opened and there he was, his head buried in the Wall Street Journal. He never looked up. I got on and he got off.
Now, he’s going to have an interesting day.
The elevator doors closed.
(My Daughter, Rebekah, was 4.)
