The Ignored (2 page)

Jane picked up her Coke and held it out to me, over the middle of the
table, motioning for me to do the same. I did, and she tapped her wax paper cup
against mine.

She grinned. “Cheers,” she said.

Automated Interface, Inc.

The name of the corporation said nothing and said everything. It was the
same sort of nondescriptive doublespeak adopted as a moniker by thousands of
other modern businesses, and it indicated to me that the company I was going to
work for produced products of no real importance, of no real value, and that
although the firm no doubt made a lot of money, it would probably make no
difference to the world if it dropped off the face of the planet tomorrow.

It was exactly the sort of place I never thought I’d work, and it
depressed me to realize that this was the only place that would have me.

Truth be told, I had never really thought about what sort of job I would
eventually hold. I had never planned that far ahead. But I realized now that I
was not the sort of person I’d thought I was—or wanted to be. I’d always seen
myself as intellectual, imaginative, creative. Artistic, I suppose, although I’d
never done anything even remotely artistic in my life. But now that I looked at
it, my perception of myself seemed to be based more upon my empathy with
literary and cinematic characters than on any qualities I actually possessed.

I pulled into the parking lot, passing an entire row of reserved spaces
before finally squeezing my extra-wide Buick into an extra-narrow space between
a red Triumph and a white Volvo. I got out of the car, straightened my tie, and
for the first time examined the building where I’d be working. It had seemed
faceless to me before and still did now. The facade was cement and glass,
modern-looking, though not modern enough to grant it a distinctive identity.
Despite it’s utter lack of character, something about it appealed to me. I
thought it looked friendly, almost welcoming, and for the first time since
waking up that morning, I felt a small hope flare within me. Maybe this job
wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Other cars were pulling into the parking lot, power-tied men and
power-suited women getting out of their expensively trendy cars and, briefcases
swinging, walking briskly into the building.

I followed the flow.

During my initial interview, I had taken notice of only the personnel
office and the conference room in which the interview had been conducted. Now I
looked carefully around the building’s lobby. Here the impression of sterile
newness fostered by the building’s exterior faded somewhat. I could see a worn
path on the burgundy carpet, a layer of dust on the plastic palms and ficuses
that flanked the door. Even the high rounded desk in front of the security guard
exhibited chips and scuffs on its wood finish.

The other men and women walking through the lobby strode purposefully
past the guard, nodding at him on their way to the elevator. I wasn’t sure if I
should do the same or if I had to check in, so I walked up to the desk.

“Excuse me,” I said.

The guard looked at me and through me, not seeming to notice my
presence. He nodded to an overweight man with thick horn-rimmed glasses.
“Jerry.”

“Excuse me,” I said again, louder this time.

The guard’s eyes focused on my face. “Yes?”

“I’m a new employee. I just got hired, and I’m not sure
where I should—”

He motioned toward the elevator with his head. “Take the elevator to
Personnel. Third floor.”

It was exactly what he had told me last time, when I’d come for the
interview, and I was about to say something to that effect, jokingly, but he had
already dismissed me in his mind, again looking past me to the other employees
entering the lobby.

I thanked him, though he wasn’t listening, and walked back to the
elevator.

Two women were already waiting for the elevator, one in her early
thirties, one in her mid-forties. They were discussing the younger one’s lack of
sexual interest in her husband. “It’s not that I don’t love him,” the woman
said. “But I just don’t seem to be able to come with him anymore. I
pretend I do—I don’t want to hurt his feelings and give him some kind of confidence
problem—but I just don’t feel it. I usually wait until he’s asleep and then
do it myself.”

“These things go in cycles,” the older woman told her. “Your interest’ll
be back. Don’t worry.”

“What am I supposed to do until then? Have an affair?”

“Just close your eyes and pretend he’s someone else.” The woman paused.
“Someone bigger.”

They both laughed.

I was standing right next to the younger woman, but I was close to both
of them, and I could not believe that two strangers were talking like this in
front of me. I felt embarrassed, and I kept my eyes on the descending lighted
numbers above the elevator door.

A few seconds later, the door opened and the three of us walked in. The
younger woman pushed the button for the fifth floor; I pushed the button for the
third.

The older woman started talking about her husband’s impotence.

I was grateful when the elevator door opened on the third floor, and I
quickly stepped out.

There were five people behind the counter in Personnel: two middle-aged
men seated at computer terminals; an elderly woman standing in front of a desk,
taking a sack lunch out of her purse; another elderly woman sitting at another
desk, and a pretty brunette girl about my age standing next to the counter
itself.

I looked for Mr. Kearns, and although I didn’t remember which
interviewer he was, there was no one behind the counter who looked even vaguely
familiar. I walked across the floor, stepped in front of the girl. “Hello,” I
said. “My name’s Bob Jones. I—”

She smiled at me. “We’ve been waiting for you, Mr. Jones.”

I’m late, I thought. It’s my first day, and I’m late.

But the girl continued to smile, and I realized as she handed me a
manila envelope that it was not even eight o’clock yet. How could I be late?
They’d probably been waiting for me because I was the only new employee they had
today.

I opened the envelope. Inside was a paperback-sized booklet titled
AII Employee Handbook
, several pamphlets, a pen, and a sheaf of forms that
I was apparently supposed to fill out.

“There are a few formalities we have to get out of the way before you go
upstairs and meet Mr. Banks. You have to fill out a W-4 form, medical, dental,
and life insurance applications, a drug-free oath, and additional information
for our personnel file that did not appear on your application.” The girl walked
through a small gate and stepped out from behind the counter. “We also have what
we call our Initiation Program for new hirees. It’s not an official presentation
or anything, but there’s a video that runs about a half hour and an accompanying
survey. You’ll find the survey form in the packet I gave you.”

I stared at her blankly, and she laughed lightly. “I know that’s an
awful lot to absorb at once, but don’t worry. Right now, we’ll just go down to
the conference room, and you can relax and watch the video. Afterward, I’ll go
through all the forms and everything with you. By the way, my name’s Lisa.” She
smiled at me, then caught the eye of one of the elderly women behind the counter
and pointed down the hall. The other woman nodded back.

She led me down the same hallway in which I’d sat while waiting for my
interview, and I glanced at the closed door to the interview room as we passed
by. I still did not understand why I’d been hired. From the questions I’d been
asked, I’d gathered that they were looking for someone knowledgeable about, or
at least somewhat familiar with, computers. But I had no computer experience at
all. Not only did I not know anything about them, I had no interest in knowing
anything about them.

Was this all a huge mistake?

We continued down the hall and stopped in front of a closed door. Lisa
pushed open the door, and we walked inside. “Have a seat,” she said.

The room was empty save for a long conference table, its attendant
chairs and a combination television/VCR on a moveable metal stand near the
table’s head. I pulled out a chair and sat down while Lisa turned on the TV and
VCR. She made a show of it, exaggeratedly bending over, obviously aware of the
way she filled out her stretch pants, and I could see the outline of her
underwear against the material. “Okay,” she said. “Take your pen and survey form
out of the packet. You’re going to need them at the end of the video.” She
straightened. “I’ll be back down the hall at the counter. Just come and get me
when you’re done, and I’ll help you fill out the necessary forms. You can leave
the videotape on, but turn off the TV when you leave the room. Do you know how
to turn it off?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“It’s this button here.” She pressed a red square at the lower left
corner of the console. The television flicked off. She pressed the square again,
and the TV snapped back to life. “I’ll see you in about half an hour.” She
pressed a button on the VCR, then walked around the table. She touched my
shoulder as she passed by, patted it, and then she was out the door, closing it
behind her.

I leaned back in my chair to watch the show, but I could tell after the
first few minutes that I was not going to like it. The video was
state-of-the-art industrial PR, but though it had the clean look and
sophisticated techniques of a modern production, the narration and determinedly
cheerful background music reminded me of those leftover educational films from
the early 1960s that they’d shown at my grammar school. That depressed me.
Nostalgia always depressed me, and I suppose that was why I never liked to think
about the past. It wasn’t because it reminded me of what once was, but because
it reminded me of what could have been. My past had not been that great, but my
future was supposed to have been so.

My future was not supposed to be spent watching PR videos at Automated
Interface, Inc.

I didn’t want to think about it. I refused to let myself think about it.
I tried to tune out the sound track and concentrate on the images, but that
didn’t work, and I found myself getting out of my chair, walking over to the
window, and staring down at the parking lot until the video was over. I returned
to the table as sound faded to silence and realized that I hadn’t paid attention
to the survey question instructions at the end of the video, but I looked down
at the form and it was pretty self-explanatory. I answered the questions on my
own before turning off the TV and VCR, grabbing my packet, and walking back down
the hall.

It took another twenty minutes to fill out the additional forms and
answer the questions put to me by Lisa. Although I was required to fill out two
pages of personal information for my health insurance, she told me that I had my
choice of three plans and that the information would be forwarded to the
insurance company of my choosing.

“If you have any other problems or questions, over anything at all, you
can come to me.” She smiled, and there seemed to be more than friendliness in
that smile. It had been a while since I’d been available or looking, and maybe I
was misreading the signs, but it occurred to me that she was genuinely
interested. I thought of the light pat on the shoulder in the conference room,
thought of the way she’d bent over in front of the TV. She handed me the
insurance brochures, and for the briefest of seconds, our fingers touched. I
felt cool skin, lingering a beat too long.

She was definitely flirting.

I noticed for the first time that she was not wearing a bra, that I
could see the outline of her nipples against the thin material of her blouse.

My face felt hot, but I tried my best to cover it by smiling, nodding my
thanks, and backing smoothly away from the counter. I was flattered but not in
the market, and I didn’t want to give her the wrong impression.

“Mr. Banks’ office is on the fifth floor,” Lisa said. “Do you want me
to show you where it is?”

I shook my head. “I’ll find it. Thanks.”

“Okay, but any problems, you give me a yell.” She waved at me, smiling.

“I will,” I said. “Thanks.”

I stood by the elevator, waiting, willing it to hurry, not daring to
look back to where I knew Lisa was still standing, watching me. Finally the
metal doors slid open, and I stepped inside, pressing the button for the fifth
floor.

I waved good-bye as the doors closed.

I had no trouble finding Ted Banks. He was waiting in front of the doors
when they opened, and he reached out and shook my hand the second I stepped off
the elevator. “Glad to see you again,” he said, although he seemed anything but
glad. I remembered him now. He’d been the surly older man at my interview, one
of the two who’d sat silently through the proceedings. He stopped shaking my
hand and smiled at me, but it was a pretend smile and did not reach his eyes.
Not that I could see his eyes very clearly behind the thick black-framed
glasses. “What do you say we walk over to my office so we can get acquainted?”

“Okay,” I said.

“Good.”

I followed him to his office. Neither of us spoke along the way, and I
found myself wishing that I had taken Lisa up on her offer to accompany me here.
I could not see Banks’ face, just the back of his head, but he seemed to me to
be angry. There was something about the way he carried himself that seemed…
hostile. I found myself wondering if I’d been hired over his objections. I got
the feeling I had.

In his office, he sat behind his desk in a high-backed leather chair and
motioned for me to take the seat opposite him. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s talk.”

We talked. Or rather he talked, I listened. He told me about the
corporation, about the department, about my job. Automated Interface, he said,
was not only an industry leader in the development of commercial business
software, it was also a great place to work. It offered a comfortable yet
professional working environment and limitless opportunity for advancement for
those with ability and ambition. The most important department within the
organization, he said, was Documentation Standards, since it was by the clarity
of the software documentation that customers tended to judge the
user-friendliness of a product. Documentation was in the front lines of both
public relations and customer support, and the continued success of the
corporation rested in large part with the quality of documentation. In my
position, according to Banks, I would be directly affecting, for better or
worse, the statue of the department and, by extension, the entire company.