The Valiant Trilogy

Chapter 6: Wasted Time

On a bright yellow Post-it note set to the middle of the desk is a user ID made from a combination of my first and last names. Below it on the same sheet is a password with a mix of letters and numbers. It's safe to assume the login information unlocks the computer and I settle into the comfortable rolling chair as I type the credentials into the login box and wait for verification to complete.

The next five minutes I spend making sure I look presentable for Mr. Valiant's arrival. I practice my smile. After that, I practice my handshake. And then I practice how I'll get up in the chair so as not to disturb my skirt. While a little shorter, it doesn't pull up too much when I stand, but if I don't do it just right the back of the blouse untucks.

I have all three maneuvers down and ready for my new boss by the time 9:10 a.m. rolls around. But still there's no Valiant.

At 9:30 I twiddle my thumbs.

Literally.

The time counts down on the clock attached to the computer, and my boredom grows until I reach the point I'm playing a game with myself to see how long it takes before I look at the time again.

If there was a winner and loser, I'd lose.

The start menu on the machine shows a basic setup so I know there must be Solitaire on the PC. At the least Minesweeper. But with the new technologies businesses use to keep watch over employees, I'm too scared to search or start up either program.

I draw a short tree, and then a barn, and a sun with rays shining on a field across the lower portion of my Post-it.

At twelve o'clock my stomach rumbles, but I don't get up and leave for lunch. What would happen if I'm gone when Mr. Valiant shows?

The bottle of Mountain Dew and Snickers bar I stashed in my briefcase this morning call to me, but I'm too scared to open them. What would I do if he walked in and I'm sucking on a Mountain Dew and chewing on a Snickers? It would waste the well-practiced stand and handshake maneuver I perfected.

The elevator dings and the doors creek. I jump to attention, standing with my back straight and my arms outstretched, ready to shake Mr. Valiant's hands. I have a hungry smile plastered on my face when the doors come open. This is the time I've been waiting for since my interview.

What?

My hand falls and my shoulders slump when a young kid, late teens or early twenties, pushing a tan cart steps off the elevator.

He glances up and appears startled to see me. "Oh, I thought you were at lunch." He walks over with two manilla envelopes and passes them to me. "Actually, I didn't know they hired anyone to replace Amy."

"Today's my first day."

He chuckles to himself like what I've said is funny. "Yeah, I can tell. Well, good luck." With his last words he's back on the elevator with nothing more than a quick wave goodbye and an expression like the next time he sees me will be at my funeral.

The two manila envelopes are addressed to Valiant himself, so I don't risk opening them and rather put them on top of the basket labeled IN. Nothing else is in there. I sit back down, irritated at how the back of my shirt has come up out of the skirt, and visualize myself drinking the Mountain Dew.

I can't think of a time when I've been more bored and hungrier and frankly a little mad. Every minute he leaves me here sitting by myself with nothing to do, I question my sanity. Did I land myself in one of those games shows where they see how long you'll sit doing nothing and record you on camera only to get your reaction when you freak out? They leave those people sitting in doctors' offices for hours. Why not a first day on a new job?

It may be the opportunity of a lifetime, but if someone doesn't show up by the end of the day, I'm not coming back tomorrow.

Ugh.

That's a lie.

I'll come back again. Even if all I do for the next month is sit at this desk and count the ceiling tiles, I'll do it to get the chance to list Valiant Industries on my résumé.

I open the top few drawers of the desk and check their contents. They're almost empty, a few pencils and pens in the middle beside a stack of Post-it notes. The big drawers on the side don't give me any other clues to what I should be doing. A purple stapler, a box of staples, and a blank ID card greet me in the middle side drawer. It's rather depressing. Did the person who used the desk before me bring anything in to personalize the area? Shirley led me to believe Valiant's earlier assistant left fast with her baby coming early. Shouldn't there be evidence of her somewhere?

At one o'clock on the dot the elevator dings again, but I've given up hope it's Mr. Valiant. Probably Shirley bringing me the files and paperwork she talked about when she deposited me in the empty hell hole filled with silence.

I don't stand, but look up and smile, waiting for her arrival. There's one thing I've learned at my internships and it's don't piss off the HR people. They can make your life a living hell.

"Have my lunch ready in five," a deep voice says before the elevators open.

I scramble to stand up and knock my chair too hard so it hits the filing cabinet behind the desk. The loud metal ping makes my new boss raise his eyes from the phone he so intently stares at as his footsteps take him to his office.

My mouth hangs open, and he's already half past my location before I stick my hand out to shake his.

Valiant stops and stares down at it, not offering me a return hand to shake. "Did you hear me?" he asks.

I nod.

"We answer with words here, Ms. Marshal."

I nod again. "Yes sir, Mr. Valiant."

He continues on past and shuts the door to the only other room in the open area.

Whew. That did not go great. All that practice wasted.