She faced her fear – the big, bad city – on the off chance she would get the job. A cab splashed her as if she were in a movie, so she was waterlogged as she entered the waiting area. The couches were filled by people with portfolios fancier or larger than hers, in some instances both. The room was past the maximum occupancy of confidence, none of it hers. Not to mention during the interview, her potential boss apparently had a cat, so she sneezed her way through most of her answers.
After that tragedy, she decided that her trip to the city shouldn’t be a total waste and stopped at a little café that looked like it was taken right from a French film. She sat at a table outside and ordered a chai latte, watching cars drive by, listening to the constant sounds of city life: horns, passing conversations, even some construction that sounded a block or so away soundtracked her moment, which she was actually starting to enjoy. Maybe the city wasn’t so bad.
That’s when her phone rang and she recognized the number of the place she’d just interviewed. She gasped and fumbled with the phone a bit, excited that they would call so fast.
“Hello, Miss Jason?” a voice on the other line said.
“Oh it’s actually Jansson,” she corrected as she fixed her hair and smiled.
“We just wanted to let you know you left your portfolio here. Please come and get it by the end of the day or it will be discarded.” At that they hung up.
Her eyes glassed up but she refused to let it phase her. After calmly finishing her drink, she headed back to building that already held such miserable memories and rushed up the two flights of stairs, unwilling to wait for the elevator. She wanted out of this office, this building, this city as fast as she could.
After snatching her portfolio from the obnoxious receptionist’s hand she rushed the few blocks back to her car only to find her windshield adorned with a parking ticket.
She yanked it out from under the wiper, got into the car, and drove home as fast as she could.