When I came to New York, I wasn’t expecting to survive, let alone successfully lie myself into a pretty nice job. I straightened my stolen blouse, my black pants as clean as I could get them from the 7/11’s bathroom.
My first day at work! How exciting. The interview had gone pretty well, all things considered, and me picking up the Forbes magazine to read had been a good idea, I think, seeing as the interviewer brought it up.
The fresh air of spring was about, though in a city it could probably better be labeled crisp. The pervasive scent of the homeless washed the gray streets of New York City, though as I walked the scent grew less and less notable.
Thankfully the scent didn’t cling to me too hard, my stolen perfume doing wonders for me.
As I walked toward the glass doors of the giant tinted-black building, the giant silver letters far above crying out Kageson for all to see, my heart hammered.
What if they found out?
I was going in for a lawyer’s internship. While it was unpaid at the moment, I was hoping to keep it before they figured out that I was not, in fact, a college student studying law in my second-to-last grade.
The very mild scent of piss and car exhaust grew into the burning scent of cleaning products and faux-fresh smells. People of all sorts milled about, all of them dressed formally. Suits, ties, blouses, skirts. Heels and leather business shoes everywhere.
I went to the security guard without comment, signing myself in and walking around. According to the interviewer and acceptance email, I would be working on the 78th floor. Going to the elevator, I glanced around at the polished dark tile flooring for a few long moments. Many others shuffled in as I did, and I found myself at the far back of the elevator.
Reaching through the crowd, I pressed the right button quietly, going back to my position and ignoring the cursory look a man gave me.
Right, I was to work in half an hour, but I arrived a bit early. The reason for this was simple: I had nothing better to do. If I was lucky, I’d explore the building after I’d got my ID and find food in one of the various break rooms.
Tension flowed through me, my shoulders rolling subconsciously as I stared ahead, standing tall and keeping my chin up. I was supposed to be here. I wasn’t a homeless person who’d had to steal clothing to successfully land this job.
Nope, no siree.
Not me.
The door opened and closed constantly, and it took a lot longer than I’d expected to get to the floor I wanted to. I would almost say it would be faster to just walk. Which, I mean, it might be.
I’d have to ask if I could. Some people kept their staircases locked. Not that I knew the reason why. The decisions of people who owned buildings didn’t concern me.
That was far too high up on the societal ladder to really focus on, right now. My greatest success was getting a permanently clean source of water year-round, though I doubted the water would be as clean as most would prefer.
City people issues, I supposed.
…
To think I’d really Casanova’d my way into such a high-rise job… My lips curled up as I looked around at the other people who put in effort and had talent, trying not to look outright evil by baring my teeth in a wide grin.
The feeling of victory was one hell of a high.
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Eventually, the crowded elevator grew less crowded, and I walked out on my floor. Wandering around, I found a break room with free coffee. I made some in a styrofoam cup.
“Who are you?” Some guy asked from right next to me. I turned and looked up, observing him. He had a sharp blue gaze and gray hair, some strands of white mixing well within. He was very wide, though his face was more baggy than fat.
“I’m the new intern that starts here today, May Cole,” I answered confidently, turning and taking three large steps back as I held my coffee, drinking it. The taste of burnt coffee beans and the exact opposite of sweetness filled my tongue despite the coffee having been unburned before I’d added sugar and cream.
The man scoffed, “I’m Scott Bernard. Are you good at making coffee?”
“No, sir,” I said instantly, realizing my role would be as cliched as I’d hoped it would be, “Would you like a cup?”
“Two sugars one cream,” The man agreed. I did so, and the man watched, scoffing, “Seem to do it just fine to me. What’s the issue?”
“Taste it.”
He did, and his face twisted. He spat the coffee out in the sink, dumping the rest. Giving the coffee machine a wary look, he huffed.
“Oh, it isn’t bad,” I confirmed, “I’m just bad at making coffee.”
I watched as he grabbed a mug with his name on it and filled it, adding in the exact same sugar and the exact same cream I did. In spite of the methods, he seemed satisfied when he took a drink, giving me a discerning look.
“You cursed or something?”
My smile was polite and distant, as it had been since I’d realized I’d have to work with the man, “If I believed in such things I would definitely think so.”
The man shook his head in disbelief, turning and gesturing for me to walk with him, “Well, since you’re here, might as well start.”
I walked by his side, looking around. The 78th floor had tiled hallways but the rooms had dark blue short carpeting. There were many tan desks around full of papers and tech alike, printers and paper shredders at practically every desk.
It was early in the morning, just before five, and there were only two others in the office. One was frail and weathered, his pale skin so covered in wrinkles it was a surprise he was still working. The other looked young and anxious, for a lawyer, shoulders just a bit higher-hitched and eyes glancing at the others just a bit too quickly. He wore a blue suit and had brown hair.
As I followed him, I saw a lot of wire baskets full of paper.
“You’ll be delivering papers, mainly. We used to send it all digitally, but that changed after our servers got hacked. Instead of improving security the CEO and owner decided to remove the threat entirely when it came to leaking legal documents and the like, so only fully approved documents are digitized, which is why we started accepting interns at all instead of hiring through merit.”
Hiring through nepotism or fame, you mean? I looked up at Scott curiously.
“So I’ll just be a paper gofer for this internship?”
“Will that be a problem?” Scott asked, “You aren’t paid anyway, and you can learn by reading the papers you deliver.”
“No, an internship here is good for my resume regardless,” I dismissed, shrugging, “I’m just trying to get the scope of what I’ll be doing here, so I can best prepare for my future.”
Read as: Did I need to study my ass off to pretend to be semi-proficient in law or could I just slack off on my phone using the company’s wifi and use the free facilities this place had until I either got paid or got found out?
Scott rolled his eyes, “Then yes. You’ll be a paper gofer. I was at least hoping for someone who made good coffee. Here, you can start now. All you have to do is gather everything in these bins. They’re color-coded. Red means it’s urgent, it needs to be taken to him immediately. Black is regular, and yellow is whatever he sends back. There’s a red now, and a stack of black. Go do your job.”
I hesitated, “I uh, haven’t been given an employee ID, yet.”
Scott stared at me for a long time. Then he shifted, “Right, this way.” On the wall was three ID’s. All said “LEGAL INTERN” in an all-caps green.
“You can keep it until you leave, it allows you to go everywhere. The CEO’s office is on the top floor, end of hallway.”
“Ah, when do I—“
“You’ll figure the rest out, I have actual work to do, intern.”
I blinked, nonplussed, as Scott walked away, slumping into his chair as he turned on his monitor. Humming shortly to myself, I walked to the papers, staring at them.
Well, it was an unpaid internship. I doubted Scott was the one supposed to greet me, so his helping before five in the morning was something I could appreciate. Going to the papers, I picked up the red-bin paper and put it on top of the black-bin stack, lifting them all up and turning to leave.
I’d just ask the dude himself the questions I had. If he was there.