After college

Expectations

I have on a red blazer, my hair is combed back with gel, a texture similar to a greasy poodle's fur, and I'm not sure if I know where the door is. It took me 4 years of community college to arrive here, countless sleepless nights and drunken stupors to allow me this final resolution. It took the filling out of a generic resume and preliminary interview with what seemed to be the world's most talkative brick wall. My feet start to move, as if possessed by some foreign power. As I pass through halls adorned with cheap yellow wallpaper I spy the company's advertisement in bold black letters. Candel paper: Quality you can trust. Eventually all my meandering brings me to the receptionists desk.

She is a short, stout women with red fleshy lips and her hair tied up in an enormous bun. Her eyes are cloaked in cheap mascara and her perfume makes my eyes water. Cautiously I say "My name is Vincent matz, I'm here for the accounting orientation". Before her answer she makes sure to give her gum an extra smack between her teeth. "Looks like your 30 minutes early, why don't you take a seat in our waiting area." I am led to a shamble of two rundown chairs and a small coffee table with thousands of scratches and dents. There are magazines everywhere and on the nearest one, a women is standing, her arms at her sides and her eyes a shimmering blue, confidence making its own trademark there. Just like Vanessa.

Rolling down the countryside at break neck speed, the ocean spraying its salty and sweet into our eyes. "Were reaching 130 miles now" her voice still angelic as the wind shrieked and threatened to tear our heads from our bodies. Her father had invested his midlife crisis in an Audi Spyder, and that crisis bore us a boon. That last year we felt even more daredevil than usual, knowing our time would end we planned a cross-country venture, from west to east we went, and in our wake left our parents behind, and maybe our minds.

"Mr. Matz!" The receptionist shrill voice awakens me from a narcoleptic slumber. I sit up to see a door, the door I was looking for, opened. A slender man with a build similar to Abraham Lincoln is occupying the doorway. I am gestured to walk in and find myself in an office fit for an ant. The man introduces himself as Daniel Kurds, not Abraham Lincoln, and begins to explain the various roles an accountant fills.

My eyes look interested but my minds somewhere else, I take a glance left and see a poster. There's a sports car and a girl leaning on it from the side, it all looks out of place in such an office space. "So you're going to be consolidating our portfolio...there's a weekly report ill need....you get a 30 minute lunch break..." All the words seem to congeal into one, a vapid mass of throat sounds, and I am left speeding down the highway at 130 miles per hour.