“Thank you.”
Elevators were located to the right. The doors were gold, set against black and green marble. The Human Resources office was in a small, square room, devoid of decorations and frills. The receptionist was skinny, with long blonde hair and a full face of exaggerated makeup. She reminded me of a leather Barbie doll.
“Hi, can I help you?” she asked.
“Yes, I’m here to drop off a resume.”
“All right.” She took it and went back to her computer, so I turned around to walk out. “Have a seat,” she said.
I did. There was a magazine rack between two chairs on the wall behind me. They were all old cooking and fashion magazines, so I pulled out my phone and started reading the news while I waited.
“What do you mean?” A woman was sobbing in the room behind the receptionist’s desk.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to leave,” a man said loudly.
“You’re kicking me out?” Her voice was louder, more panicked.
“Ma’am, if you don’t leave, I’m going to have to call security.”
“No,” she wailed. “You can’t do this to me.” Her sobs grew louder and louder while the receptionist stared at her computer monitor as if nothing were happening.
A man ducked his head out the door. “Call security.”
“Yes, sir.” The receptionist picked up the phone.
“Sorry about that,” the man said. “Are you the applicant?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Good, I’ll be right with you. We just have to deal with this.”
“Okay.” I turned back to my phone, pretending to look at it while I listened to the drama unfold. The door to the office was open now. I could hear everything.
The woman still sobbed. “You can’t let them take them from me. Please, I’m begging you.”
The receptionist spoke quietly into the phone with her hand cupped over the receiver. “Yeah, she’s freaking out. Get here quickly.”
“I don’t deserve this,” she said between sobs.
“You have to calm down,” the man said.
“No, this is wrong. I can’t take this. I have to have them. They’re my babies. My babies!”
“Ma’am…”
“No!”
A man, the size of a black bear, walked into the room. I would’ve pushed past him to run out the door had he not been blocking it when he walked up to the desk.
“Back there.” The receptionist pointed at the door behind her.
“Got it.” The guard could barely fit behind the desk.
“Don’t worry. He won’t be long. We’re almost done.” She turned her attention back to her computer with a placid look on her face.
“No, no, no, no,” the woman cried.
I finally saw her. A red-faced woman shrank back when the guard walked in. I wasn’t sure what bothered me more: the fact that this was going on at all, or the fact that things like this must happen all the time if the receptionist didn’t even care.