Co- Workers | Teen Ink

Co- Workers

February 7, 2011
By mjamett BRONZE, Grosse Pointe Woods, Michigan
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mjamett BRONZE, Grosse Pointe Woods, Michigan
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Favorite Quote:
Tough times never last, but tough people do.

Every day, she would come into the office and patiently wait at her desk. At least, this is what is seemed on the surface. But that’s what only what every body sees; the surface.

On the inside, she was trying to play her part. Quiet, obedient, seen but not heard until assistance was needed. And this was exactly what she was: the bosses assistant.

She would sit quietly at her desk until he entered, which she noticed was either at 8:42 on Tuesday and Thursdays, and 8:37 on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. If he came into work on Saturdays, which he did every other, he gave himself the liberty to stroll in at 9:14. And she would be there, holding his messages and calls until he appeared at the allotted time.

This wasn’t because she was looking for a raise, or because she paricularily enjoyed working under someone else. Actually, refraining to the past dirty joke, it was because she enjoyed working under someone else, but you have to make the past moment a that’s what she said in order to understand why she was so vigilant at her desk. And that because, like any old cliché of the office, she was working a lot of over time with her boss.

It’s not quite what you think. This man was divorced, he had no wife, only a ex wife that was an alcoholic. He had a ten-year-old daughter, which was why he wanted to keep this business transaction a secret.

They both worked hard to play their parts; hard working co workers, and nothing more. They wouldn’t walk in together, or out, no wrinkled clothing, no ties and lipstick askew. They played their part until one of them couldn’t handle it.

The assistant, who every one said had such a bright future, who could handle anything in a time of crisis, snapped. She told her boss, either deal or no deal, all or nothing, tell the child or don’t. He chose that their was no way the ten year old needed a mother that was based off a sexual relationship. He said no.

He was right about her not being a good mother. What kind of mother would she had been if she believed everything revolved around a man? That a man was everything, and killing yourself over him would have been acceptable?

At her funeral, black carnations were set everywhere. The people that attended were friends that stayed distant, co- workers that said she was going places, people that did not know her. Her mother and father died years before, and she was an only child. She didn’t make many acquaintances throughout her years of high school or college. In fact, no one at this funeral could name her favorite color, which was partly the reason of the black carnations.

Her co-worker knew exactly why nobody here knew her favorite color. It was because she was afraid of rejection, and if she had made any real friends before this, she would have killed herself much sooner.

Her favorite color was white, because it was innocent and pure. The sign of total sacredness and unspoiled goods. You could have a million different shades of white, and any color would look just as pleasing to the eye as the next. She loved the color white.

She made a point of wearing the color each day, either in a necklace or a blouse, there would not be a day that she went with out the color white.

The day that she saw him, she was wearing a white pin, with a pale blue blouse and a black, somewhat loose pencil skirt. She was a new employee at the office. She entered the elevator alone, straightening her pencil skirt, trying to smooth the wrinkles that had already appeared during the 10 minute subway ride. She straightened her pin, the one with two doves.

She entered the 11th floor of the building, her new work place. She asked the receptionist where and who she should meet first, greeting the lady in green with a closed lip smile. She told her to walk straight ahead until she got to the far window, the one with the lovely view of the city. To her right would be her new bosses office.

She did as she was told, trying to make the rhythm of her footsteps steady and even. As she walked for what seemed a mile, she observed the others. The woman coming up on her left was slightly plump and wore a red sweater with a white camisole underneath. She felt that maybe they could be friends, but she quickly denounced the thought. Friendships in the work place could only lead to hurt and trouble, she scolded herself. This was a place of work, not a place of play.

The man coming up on her left had large framed glasses, although she thought it seemed like a calculated look. The large frame glasses along with the bowtie, sweater vest, and black and white shoes seemed to be a part of an image, and although she liked the originality that he seemed to portray, she respect him for the fact that it seemed he tried very hard to achieve this persona.

After observing her many co-workers on the endless walk to her new place, she came upon the window. It was large, and seemed to have no frames. It went from floor to ceiling, and seemed to be a television to the many people’s lives.

She didn’t have enough time to notice the people that looked like ants below her before the phone to her left rang. The ringing wasn’t so much a ringing as it was a beeping sound. Even after the first few times hearing the sound with no melody she became annoyed by it. She took enough time away from trying to ignore the persistent ringing of the phone to notice the desk that the very phone was resting on.

It was a blank desk, a blank canvas. There was a desktop computer, several drawers, a black chair with a mesh back, the bottom cushion covered by an odd polyester-like fabric. The desk was a clear glass on top, displaying the empty contents of the drawers below. And the black nameplate with the white lettering displayed her name.

She had just picked up this nameplate to inspect that her eyesight was not going astray when the door behind her clicked open. She speedily spun around while replacing her nameplate to meet the brown eyes of a man in a black suit with a blue blouse and a red tie. He had white dove cuff links that his daughter had given him.

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