Monday morning arrived with a blur of textbooks and early lectures. I had rushed from the university, my heart still racing from the final bell of my BBA class. I wanted to be perfect. I wanted to be early.
By 12:30 PM, I was standing in front of the office, smoothed out my clothes, and took a deep breath.
But when I tried to head toward the desks, the security guard stepped forward, checking his clipboard.
"Wait here, Miss," he said firmly but not unkindly. "The Manager hasn't arrived yet. No one is authorized to assign you a desk or give you your login credentials until he's here."
I felt a slight sink in my stomach. "But I'm ready to start. Can I just sit somewhere and wait?"
"Sorry. Company policy. You'll have to wait in the reception lounge."
So, there I was. The "ambitious morning student," stuck sitting on a plush leather chair in the waiting area, clutching my bag. Every time the elevator dinged or the glass doors swung open, my head snapped up. I felt like a stranger looking into a world I wasn't quite part of yet.
Staff members walked past with coffee and files, giving me curious glances. I felt small, exposed, and a little bit nervous. Was I too early? Was he late on purpose?
Suddenly, I felt a presence nearby.
The heavy glass doors swung open, and the atmosphere in the reception area shifted instantly. I didn't need to look up to know it was him; the sudden silence of the staff was enough of a clue.
The Manager walked in, his stride long and purposeful. He looked even more intimidating than he had during the interview, dressed in a sharp charcoal suit that meant business. He spotted me sitting in the lounge and paused.
"Follow me," he said. It wasn't a question; it was a command.
I gathered my things and followed him into the heart of the office. We stopped at a desk tucked near a window. It was clean, organized, and—for the first time in my life—it was mine.
"This is your workspace," he said, gesturing to the desk. He didn't waste time with small talk. He immediately began laying out the tasks. "I don't care that you're only eighteen or that you've come straight from class. Once you sit in this chair, you are an employee of this firm."
He began 'shooting' the instructions at me—explaining the filing system, the software, and the deadlines. He was fast, expecting me to keep up.
"I need these reports cross-referenced by the end of the day," he added, placing a stack of folders on my desk. He leaned in slightly, his scent—something like cedar and expensive soap—briefly distracting me from the paperwork. "Do you still think you can 'manage everything,' or is the first day already too much?"
He was testing me again. But as I looked at the desk and then up at him, I felt a surge of adrenaline.
"I'll have it on your desk before I leave, sir," I replied.
A small, almost invisible smirk touched his lips. "We'll see."