Moving On?

I found another scene starter, so I decided to see where it led. I hope you enjoy...

Only I would get lost in traffic on my way to my new job. To be honest, I’d worked this job so long that I didn’t remember when I started. It just felt like a new job since the company recently moved to a bigger office building that happened to be on the side of town.

Deep down, I knew I should have driven the route a couple of times over the weekend. I ignored those promptings, woke up at my normal time on Monday morning, and headed out. With carefully printed directions clutched tightly in my left hand, I guided my car through early morning traffic with confidence that would quickly fade. As I circled the block for the third time, my eyes finally rested on small sign declaring that parking waited to my left. I sighed and circled the block again because I didn’t have time to get over.

When I finally stepped out of my car, I longed to stop for a moment to take a deep sigh of relief, but I was already late. My heels clicked on the recently poured cement with determination. My hands clenched around the couple of files in my hand as I raced toward the elevator. A tall man smiled understandingly as he held the door for me. He looked as if he was about to say something, so I pointed my eyes to the ground.

He remained behind as I stepped out onto the tenth floor. A piece of paper on a display board warned me of wet paint, so I made myself as small as possible as I made my way toward the open door at the end of the hallway. Stepping through the door, I was relieved that no eyes turned toward me. My relief quickly faded away as I made my way to where my new cubicle should be. As I passed by Carolyn’s cubicle, I stopped and stared. A short, balding man named Jeffrey leaned over his keyboard, peering at his monitor with watery eyes. I felt my mouth drop open a little as I surveyed the room and my eyes returned to Jeffrey’s cubicle.

“Sarabeth, why are you just standing there?” A tall blond woman with rich blue eyes paused beside me.

“My desk should be right here, between Carolyn and Jeffrey.” I barely looked up at her long enough to recognize her.

“There isn’t an empty desk there. Find yours.” Valerie frowned disapprovingly before turning away.

Sighing, I turned toward a bank of offices. My director’s name graced the opaque glass of the door closest to me. I stepped inside without knocking. My director glanced up.

“What are you doing in here?” His rough voice didn’t display annoyance, just weariness.

“I don’t have a desk.”

“What?” He pulled a file from a pile on his desk and began to sift through its contents.

“Is this your subtle way of telling me that I’m fired?” I forced a laugh.

“Of course not.” He didn’t look up from the papers on his desk.

I waited for him to say something more as he thumbed through a sheaf of pages thicker than my thumb. 

“Well, that is odd. It looks like we lost your paper work. I’ll have to see what I can do.”

It turned out that all he could do was find me a small desk in the corner of the mailroom. I’ve been assured many times that as soon as someone quits, I will have a real desk of my own. I can’t say I haven’t pondered helping someone reach the decision to retire, but I admit that I haven’t done anything about it yet. Yet…