Executive

…12

Alex inhaled the aroma of her freshly brewed coffee.

"Thank God for caffeine," she sighed. She was tired after tossing and turning most of the night, thinking about the 10:00AM interview. She felt awkward at the thought of meeting a prospective employer to whom she had already admitted she was willing to steal, lie, and what not, and she had admitted it in writing too.

Getting behind the wheel of her car, her confidence started building. What do I have to lose? Her car was much like her apartment, with a variety of objects scattered on the seats and floor. It was a red convertible Suzuki Vitara, the only convertible SUV available for her budget. It suited her personality, and although the Vitara was a small-size SUV, the sporty feel of a four-by-four, manual-transmission convertible was able to bring her spirits up, every time she took it for a ride.

Taking I-5 north toward Los Angeles, she reached the address in just over an hour and a half. It's not so close to home, but what a ride, she thought, still enchanted by the spectacular views presented by the scenic drive along the Pacific coast. She pulled into a parking spot marked "Reserved — Visitors." Looking up, she saw a three-story building, appearing crisp, clean, and dignified in its white finish, sparkling in the morning sun. Here we go. Good luck, young lady, you're gonna need it, she encouraged herself, while stepping into the elevator.

The elevator stopped at the third floor and the doors silently glided open, allowing Alex to step directly into the reception area of The Agency. So they have the whole floor. Or floors. Good. She stepped up to the reception desk.

"Good morning. I have a 10:00AM appointment—" She abruptly stopped her introduction, realizing she didn't have the name of the person she was supposed to meet. Damn. The receptionist didn't seem to mind.

"Yes. Please take a seat; it will only be a few minutes."

She sat down on a comfortable leather sofa and began looking around. Written on the wall above the reception desk, in golden letters with a shadow effect, the company name, The Agency, made quite an impression, despite its upright, neutral font. The reception area was spacious, decorated with a lot of taste and a lot of money. On the left side was an incomplete wall made of glass bricks, masking what could have been the corridor leading toward offices. Discrete spotlights were placed here and there to emphasize the effect of the sunshine reflections on the glass bricks. On the right side, large windows allowed the sunshine to light up the room, while offering a spectacular view of a park.

The reception desk was a piece of furniture like no other Alex had ever seen. It appeared to be custom made, because it followed the shape and angles of the wall behind it. Three receptionists could sit at this monumental desk without even being able to touch one another. The entire visible surface had an impeccable dark oak, glossy finish.

Showcasing this remarkable desk, the entire office floor was covered in thick, beige carpet, but there was little furniture. Aside from the reception desk and the sofa she was sitting on, there were only two armchairs, with a small coffee table between them, and a cast-iron newspaper holder close to the elevator. Strange.

The elevator was still there, doors open. She looked closely at the elevator and noticed that no controls were visible next to the elevator doors. She turned her eyes to the receptionist. As if reading her mind, the receptionist turned her chair around and touched a button on a metallic panel, marked "Access" bolted to the wall behind her. The elevator doors closed without a sound.

"Good morning, Miss Hoffmann." A deep, powerful voice startled Alex. She stood up, ready to extend her arm for the usual handshake. In the black eyes of the handsome man standing in front of her, there was no willingness to shake hands.

She replied, cautiously, "Good morning. How are you?"

"Please, follow me." The man did not wait for her reply; he turned and walked around the glass brick wall into a dark corridor.

I was right, Alex thought. As the man entered the corridor, a light came on by itself. Neat. He stopped in front of an office, knocked once, and opened the door. He stepped aside, indicating that Alex should enter. Without any introduction, he quietly closed the door and walked down the hall.

"Welcome to The Agency, Miss Hoffmann." The man behind the desk was smiling widely and seemed friendly and open. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Tom Isaac, and I'm in charge of The Agency. Please, sit down."

She took her seat and looked around. It was an average office, with common office furniture — a desk, some chairs, two filing cabinets — and a window covered by Venetian blinds, partially blocking the sun. Nothing special about it.

She answered politely, smiling back, "Nice to meet you. Thank you for inviting me." She put down her briefcase next to the chair. Ready as I'll ever be, she thought, waiting for the interview to begin.

"So, please let me begin by asking, what kind of job are you looking for?"

Something to pay the bills and have some fun while at it, if possible, she thought. Instead she answered by the book, her training and experience in interviewing taking over.

"My ideal job is one that incorporates both my education and practical work skills to be the best I can be. Combining my education with a working knowledge of customer operations, my entrepreneurial abilities, computer skills, and administrative skills, I want to utilize my analytical expertise to help people meet their goals. This is exactly why I am convinced that I would be a valuable member of your team."

She had no idea what job she had applied for. She had no information allowing her to be more precise, and this was considered the best possible vague answer to this tricky question. This is going to be tough, she braced herself.

Mr. Isaac was watching her closely, slowly nodding as she spoke. He asked the second question. "How would you describe yourself in terms of your ability to work as a member of a team?"

Standard interview questions, what a disappointment; they promised me none of this dance. Alex almost sighed.

"I have had many opportunities in both academics and work experience to develop my skills as a team player. My experience as a market research team leader also helped me learn the role of team member. I viewed my position as that of group leader and individual contributor at the same time. I ensured that everyone in my group had an equal opportunity to contribute, maintained excellent communication among group members, and coordinated their energies toward reaching our team's goal."

Mr. Isaac looked down at the file in front of him and scribbled something on the print of her résumé. She continued to look directly at him, while smiling and waiting for the next question.

"Are you currently employed?"

"Yes," she lied, without any hesitation, knowing she had a better chance of getting a job if no one knew she was currently unemployed.

"Why would you like to leave your current employer? It is a nice company, from what I hear." Mr. Isaac leaned forward, curious to hear her answer. It came without delay or hesitation.

"I feel I am not challenged enough in my current position. I would like to move toward a more challenging, more rewarding position, which will allow me to fully utilize my skills and my abilities, and also offer me opportunity for self-improvement and professional growth."

"What a load of crap!" Mr. Isaac stood up abruptly, startling her.

She froze. Oh, my God!

Mr. Isaac continued, pacing angrily through his office.

"I promised you a straightforward recruiting process, if you were honest with your answers. Yesterday you were willing to discuss. Today you are giving me nothing but a nicely wrapped, well-rehearsed pile of bullshit. What happened?"

She started to speak, but her voice was gone. She made an effort, cleared her throat, took in a deep breath, and gave it her best shot.

"I am sorry, sir, but the habit of giving these standard answers took over. You did ask me some fairly standard HR questions. You are right, though, I am sorry for wasting your time with all this." She managed a faint smile.

"Are you willing to answer some questions without lying, leaving stuff out, or sugarcoating anything?"

"Yes, sir." She could feel sweat at the roots of her hair.

"Be careful, one more time with this kind of crap and we stop right there, understood?"

"Yes, sir." Do I really want to work for this guy?

"OK, again, what kind of job are you looking for?"

She realized she had been holding her breath. Here's your truth, mister. Let's see if you can handle it. She exhaled the air in her lungs and answered, looking straight into his eyes.

"I'm looking for a job that will comfortably pay my bills without boring me to death, have me living in fear, and slowly killing my spirit. I want to have some fun doing that job; I want some flexibility; and I want to work with smart, open-minded people who can teach me a thing or two." She stopped and held her breath again, waiting for his reaction.

"Was it painful?" he asked. His eyes were smiling, but his face was still serious.

Surprise. "Excuse me?"

"To tell the truth for a change." He sat up and walked around the desk toward her.

"No, it was actually quite relieving to hear myself say it." She smiled shyly, aware she was blushing. "I haven't done that in a while." She did not dare look him in the eyes.

He was now standing in front of her. She stood up abruptly, ready to run. He reached out his hand and gave her a firm handshake.

"Then it's really a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hoffmann. Let's continue. Please sit down. Are you currently employed?"

"No," she sighed.

"What happened?"

"My boss used to be quite a nice guy. However, one day he went berserk. He started arguing with me without reason. He said I had the wrong attitude, and that a customer had complained that I was swearing while fixing her network."

"Were you?"

"Well, the strangest thing is that I was never with that customer. I was scheduled to go, but traded accounts with a colleague, because that specific customer was close to his home. I figured the boss just wanted me out, and I left. That was no life for me; I can't handle that kind of attitude. There was no fixing the situation; the more I tried to clarify the issue, the more aggravated he would get. His reaction came as a complete surprise. Until then, he had shown only appreciation toward my performance."

"Did he fire you?"

"No. After trying to talk to him, I realized I had no other options, and I quit. I couldn't just sit there, knowing he wanted me gone. I didn't want to wait for that shoe to drop, wondering when it was going to happen."

"Most people would have stayed put, while looking for something else. Pay a few more bills in the meantime," Mr. Isaac said, watching her reaction.

"I am not most people. In order to focus on damage control, I had to acknowledge the damage and discard all unnecessary weight, such as the dismissal waiting to happen pretending to be my job."

Mr. Isaac couldn't help but chuckle. "A good sense of humor is your best ally when times turn tough," he said, and resumed the interview questions. "I need to know how you see yourself as part of a team. No standard answer, please."

Alex took a deep breath. This was going to be one interview to remember.

"Well, it depends. A team is good to have around when you need someone's help, although I'm more comfortable on my own. I like to take full responsibility and full credit for my actions. The one thing I hate the most is office politics."

"Office politics?"

"Yes. For example, I'm minding my own business, while one coworker has nothing better to do and starts saying stuff about me. Before I know it, I end up asked to explain things I had nothing to do with. Or, here's another example, I am not given a promotion, because I am the only one who was too busy with work to be aware that the boss bought a new car, so I never had a chance to congratulate him on his excellent choice."

Alex looked up and smiled. It will be a miracle if I get this job, she said to herself.

"I totally agree, but this is not a perfect world we are living in. So, how do you manage to fit in the average corporate environment?" Mr. Isaac continued, undisturbed.

"I didn't say I can't do it; I just said I hated it," Alex replied.

"Oh. True. Let's move on. Where do you see yourself in five years?" Mr. Isaac gave an encouraging smile, as if to warn her to be honest.

"I really don't know; there are too many things to consider. If I win the lottery, then we might discuss what I really want to do in five years. If my luck continues to work the way it did so far, in five years I will be, most likely, interviewing for yet another job, and giving some recruiter exactly the answers he wants to hear. It's hard to say," she said, then shrugged and waited for another question.

"Do you have any questions for me?" Mr. Isaac offered.

Alex sighed thoughtfully.

"How many steps are in this interviewing process?"

"Just this. Based on this one interview, I will make my decision and let you know."

OK, now I know for sure I screwed up. He won't hire me, Alex thought. She was surprised to realize how saddened she was by this thought. She couldn't help feeling that the man in front of her was quite remarkable, and she would have liked him to appreciate her. She continued, out of curiosity.

"Thank you. I asked on my online form, 'Who are you?" And I'd also like to know what job did I apply for?"

Mr. Isaac leaned forward and smiled.

"I created The Agency 17 years ago, when a friend of mine, a business owner, got into some trouble. He had grown suspicious that someone was stealing his customer files and selling the info to his competition. In order to find out who that was, he hired me, not as an investigator, but as a payroll clerk. No one pays attention to the accounting clerks," he said with a chuckle and paused, letting the story and all its implications sink in.

As it did, surprise showed on her face. She saw the ramifications, the possibilities, and grew excited about the idea. Yes. Obviously, this idea worked. I'd love to do that for a living, yes I would, she thought, thinking fast. Not a moment of boredom, no office politics, actually use my brain, my dream come true. Plus they have to be paying really well. However, her enthusiasm abruptly cooled, why the hell is he telling me this stuff if he's not even going to call me for a second interview? She did not realize how well the man could read her thoughts, just by looking at her transparent features and bright, expressive eyes.

"Starting from that case," he continued, "I realized there was growing potential on the market for this kind of service. We are currently a small team of four people, and we need a fifth person. I'm looking specifically for someone with a little more computer knowledge than we currently have among us, to be able to work as an IT executive and assist with email and data-related fraud concerns."

She almost had tears in her eyes. I can't believe they won't hire me — no other job will ever compare, she thought. Mr. Isaac was now standing up, most likely preparing to show her out. Somehow, she found the courage and asked.

"Mr. Isaac, will you please tell me where I screwed up?"

"Who said you did? Let's go meet the guys. And please, call me Tom."

Her exhilarated scream was loud enough to make the receptionist wonder what the hell was going on back there.

Alex was born in Mt. Angel, Oregon, a charming city just forty miles south of Portland. The City of Bells is deeply German in tradition and heritage, with its population almost entirely of European descent.

Both Alex's parents were engineers, a profession quite compatible with their never-forgotten German origins. The young couple brought Alex into the world on a sunny June afternoon, in a whirl of joy, laughter, and happiness. Alex remembered her early childhood as a serene land of fairytales, with her happy parents holding her hands, while she discovered the miracles of the quaint world surrounding her. She started talking early, and soon she had lengthy conversations with her father. He loved challenging her young mind with all kinds of questions and problems. He bought her toy building sets and mechanical sets, carefully grading the difficulty levels of the tasks, so she would be able to succeed, yet stay challenged and learn new things every day.

Her mother was the one who opened her mind to the wonders of faraway places, and worlds she had seen on her numerous travels. She showed Alex pictures of distant cities and told her stories about strange places and people, filling her mind with images and people from all over the world. By the time Alex turned six, she knew the names of most of the countries in the world and their capitals. For her, they were not just simple names in some atlas, but they were amazing places she had heard awesome stories about. As Alex grew older, she started to read, and her mother suggested books about travel and adventure, starting her off with the inspiring works of Jules Verne, Alexandre Dumas, and Jack London.

Alex easily remembered those heartwarming days, as she kept their memories in a safe place in her heart. What she could neither remember nor explain was where and when it all had gone away. Slowly, creeping among her family, came misery, sorrow, and pain, uninvited guests whose appearance she had never been able to pinpoint in time. It was as if, over time, everything had turned bad.

The first sad memory she had about her childhood kept coming back to her, as an early clue for things to come. It was Christmas morning, and she had rushed from her bed directly to the living room to check under the tree and open her presents, but there were no presents for her to open. Her father sat quietly at the dining room table. Her heart sinking, she turned to him and said, "Daddy, where are my presents?"

He stared into emptiness for a few seconds, and then pulled a fifty-dollar bill out of his pocket, and said, "Here, why don't you go out and buy yourself something nice, all right?" She remembered crying herself to sleep that Christmas day. She remembered crying herself to sleep many days after that.

As things changed for the worse, her parents constantly argued, uttering unspeakable cruelty to each other, their voices filled with hate and contempt. Just a few years later, when Alex was thirteen, they took it to the next level. Her father told her one day that she was the only reason he was not divorcing her mother, blaming Alex for all the abuse he was enduring. From helpless and scared, she now became guilty of everything.

Soon her mother also blamed her for siding with her father. They would drag her into their arguments, and, on occasion, join their forces against her. Nothing she would do or say would make any difference. Nothing would buy her some peace. She soon gave up and put all her strength in trying to survive, to stay sane. To do that, she turned to her books and learned how to cope with hardship from her favorite authors. She dragged herself through school; nothing took her mind off her family issues anymore.

One day, it was over. She turned eighteen and had two more weeks to finish high school. As her parents briefly halted their daily disputes to wish her a joyless, happy birthday, she broke the news to them.

"I am out of here," she said, with a cold determination in her voice. "I already have a job and a place to stay, and my bags are packed. As of today, as I am sure you already know, I have become of age, and this is my first decision as an adult."

After the initial shock, both her parents attempted to turn her decision. Her father said, "We had dreams for you. You were going to college. This is what you wanted, right?" He looked confused and suddenly older by ten years.

She explained in a softer voice, "I can't do that while living here, Dad, I really can't. Maybe I will be able to go to college later, after settling in on my own."

Then her mother's intervention came as a painful shock. "Well, if that's your decision, then learn to live with it. You may not take anything with you on your way out. You haven't paid a dime for any of the items you call yours. Therefore, you will leave here with nothing. I expect the clothes you are wearing to be returned by tomorrow. You have one minute to leave this house. Oh, and don't you ever come back."

Alex was speechless, as she opened the front door. She closed it behind her, and, as she was walking away, she heard her father yell at her mother, "How could you do that to your own child?"

Her mother opened the door and called Alex back. She was stupidly hoping for an apology, or kind words, or good-luck wishes. Her mother said, "You forgot to leave your keys!"

Time had started its healing process.

At first, she lived in a small, one-bedroom basement apartment in Mt. Angel, constantly afraid she'd run into her parents on the street or at the mall. She feared that her landlady would one day judge her for leaving home or talk to her parents about her. She worked as a customer-service representative, barely making enough to cover her rent and expenses. She graduated from high school and forged her mother's signature on a change-of-address notice to the school, allowing her to receive all documents and transcripts at her new address, without having to ask her parents for them.

Neither of them showed up at her graduation ceremony. She kept looking for them in the crowd, but they weren't there. Naturally, she would have liked to show her parents she could still go on.

She had saved some money before leaving home — money she had earned in secret while tutoring young children in math and science. That money turned out to be useful in helping her get the bare necessities for her new life.

She hadn't found any logical reason to comply with her mother's demand to personally return her clothing by the next day. She couriered them instead, underwear included, saving herself from more pain and aggravation.

Then she started the systematic rebuilding of her life. She filed for a copy of her birth certificate, changed the address on her driver's license, and then started looking for a way to move to the big city. There were more job opportunities in Portland. She could make more money and meet more people — people who didn't know her family. Her only friend cynically argued that she wanted to put more distance between her and her parents to decrease the risk of running into them.

Of all the things she left at her parents' house, she missed her computer the most. She was able to find an older computer that she could afford and bought it. Later, she upgraded it herself. Once she had that problem solved, she started looking for a job and a new apartment in Portland.

When she moved away from Mt. Angel, all her possessions fit loosely in a rental sedan. Two years later, she was halfway though her college degree, and a beat-up blue Chevy was making her life a lot easier. She was gaining confidence in her abilities, and she was drawing strength from her achievements. She was ready for her next move: San Diego.

On occasion, she received phone calls from her father, who wanted to know how she was. She could barely endure the conversations; there was nothing left to say. She had never again spoken to her mother, and her last memory of the woman was of that moment when she had handed her the house keys.

She was healing slowly. For a long time, she had felt a sort of suffocating anger, waking her in the middle of the night, making her want to pick up the phone and ask her parents how they could have done that to her. She resisted that impulse. After a while, it disappeared, replaced with feelings of deep loneliness. She fought those feelings by reading, working, studying, and then one day she realized she had become comfortable on her own. She rarely cried anymore. Her only tears appeared on the rare times when she watched a movie in which a happy family was gathered around a Christmas meal.