Hold The Door, Please | ONC 2022

2. Floor: 1

Haylie

People shuffle over as a man enters. Despite only being able to see half of him from this corner of the elevator, he immediately catches my eye.

I've always been shorter than average. I'm probably the smallest person in this elevator, in fact. But even while keeping that in mind, he is tall. He'd probably be able to touch the ceiling of the elevator without much trouble.

While most of the other men in the elevator are simply wearing dress shirts, he's in a navy blue suit – precisely creased and pressed without a wrinkle in sight. A perfectly tied grey tie is held by an almost blindingly shiny gold tie clip.

His hair is a rich brown, the same shade as a really good cup of coffee with just enough milk. Faint stubble shadows his sharp jaw, contrasting over his warm olive skin. Saying he looks like he belongs on a magazine cover is an understatement.

He turns in my direction and I quickly look away – praying he didn't see me staring. I lean backwards out of his way as he reaches towards the panel. I can't help but notice a shiny silver ring on his ring finger. Who was I kidding? Of course someone like him would be taken.

A soft beep plays as he presses 72. I wonder what could possibly be that high up in the building. 

The doors slide shut and I feel the slight push of gravity against my knees as the elevator begins to rise. Moments later, they open on the main floor at the sound of a robotic voice, "Floor one."

I'm able to get a brief glimpse of the lobby. It's incredibly modern and sleek. People are quickly walking around, carrying coffee cups, laptops, and bags. They all look so confident and poised, clearly belonging here. Delivery people bring in massive mountains of packages on flatbeds, the receptionists look like straight-up models, and two large security officers patrol the room.

A couple people exit the elevator and several more enter. I scoot over more, until the metal handrails on the walls press into my hip.  

"Good morning Will," a very young looking woman in a pink dress cheerfully greets the man in the suit as she enters.

"Morning Jennie," he says with a small smile. His voice is deep and gruff, but not in an unfriendly sounding way.

I tune out their hushed conversation as she shows him some documents in a thick folder she's carrying.

People finish pressing buttons, making the panel even brighter, and the doors slide shut. I feel my stomach fill with dread as I look at the number of stops. With this many floors to stop on, I'm almost certainly going to be late.

As my phone finally finishes powering back on, it begins vibrating repeatedly and my notification tone overlaps itself multiple times.

I feel heat rush to my face as people curiously look over at me. I check my phone and, unsurprisingly, it's been spammed with texts from Randall. I skim through them as I scroll, not bothering to properly read them. I'm certain it's not worth the energy right now. For the most part, he's whining about having a copious amount of work to do because I'm not there. Strangely enough, I see the small typing bubble is still there, and I continue receiving his texts.

I turn to the small, elderly woman to my left. She's one of the few people in the elevator not glued to their phones. "Um, excuse me?" I ask softly. "Do you know how we're getting service in the elevator?" 

"Sorry hon, I don't understand most of the new tech gear in the building," she chuckles sheepishly. "I've been here since we still used rotary phones. Although, at least from what I understand, it's some sort of signal booster."

"That's more or less it, Mabel." I look over to the man, apparently named Will, who's giving the woman an amused smile. "They're called distributed antenna systems. They make the signal strong enough to reach inside the elevators."

"Thanks," I say, giving him a smile that hopefully doesn't look too overeager. Look calm and collected Haylie, just like everyone else here.

As the elevator rises, Will continues to pique my interest. It seems as if he somehow knows everyone by name, and vice versa. Everyone who enters the elevator receives a polite good morning followed by their name from him. I suppose he's hard to miss, looking the way he does. The friendly, and slightly flirty, looks most of the girls give him are all very similar. Same with the looks of eagerness to impress him from the rest.

Each floor the elevator opens up on appears relatively similar. They all have a small foyer with a pretty looking receptionist sitting at the front desk, several halls branching out in different directions, and people seemingly having efficient, professional meetings while quickly walking together.

I normally feel out of place, working at Randall's office. Despite only being twenty five, I'm the second oldest person there. My coworkers, practically kids, use slang I don't know, dress like they're either homeless or models, use apps I don't understand, and generally make me feel incredibly out of touch with the upcoming state of our world.

This, however, is a whole other level of imposter syndrome. While I'm struggling to stay afloat with the little I have, many of the people who work here live lives I can only dream of.

Having done some digging in preparation for my interview, I found out that the vast majority of the employees here come from ridiculously powerful families and networks. Former coworkers of industry leaders, friends of experts in their fields, sons and daughters of powerful CEOs, the list goes on. They were hired through their connections with the best of the best.

Hell, the company is pretty much run by the grandchildren of the original CEO and founder, Leo Maywin. Most of the executive board is made up of Maywin's – the current CEO is his granddaughter, Kayla Maywin. Their family's net worth is in the tens of millions.

This all seems incredibly unfair. It's just bullshit. The world is rigged for the rich to only get richer.

But to be fair, it's not completely sheer luck that I'm even here today. My brother-in-law's cousin's girlfriend works in the human resources department at Maywin Co. I'm still surprised my sister was actually able to call in for a favour from her. 

I certainly don't belong here.

I quickly try to clear my mind. Getting in my own head right before this interview is a terrible idea. Confidence is about faking it till you make it, right?

My phone suddenly begins ringing. Looking at my screen, it's Randall. I'm tempted to reject the call, but I answer on the slim chance it's actually important for once.

"Hello?" I say softly, trying to avoid disturbing my fellow elevator riders.

"Haylie? Are you still sick?"

Fortunately, he can't see me rolling my eyes. "Yes. What do you want?" 

"I have to fire Andy today, can you come do it?" he whines.

"What? I fired him last week." Do we have more than one Andy I've never met? I surely wouldn't have forgotten last week's debacle. The man practically threw a tantrum and had the audacity to threaten to sue us.

"Yeah, you did, but we went out for drinks the other night. He tricked me into getting drunk and bugged me until I hired him back."

While it's plenty stupid, that's definitely on the milder end of stupid things Randall has done while drunk. "Randall," I say through gritted teeth, "you realize we fired him for harassment, right?" He must be seeing the irony here, right?

"Haylie," he whines again, "c'mon, he thinks I'm cool."

How much more pathetic can Randall possibly get? He's a twenty seven year old desperate to get validation from an eighteen year old. It's almost beyond comprehension. "Grow some god damn balls and do it you coward," I snap and swiftly hang up.

I notice a couple of moments after taking my phone away from my ear how quiet the elevator actually is. I was definitely shouting by the end of that call.

Hopefully no one in this elevator will remember me.