Mind the Gap | ✔️

February 28 @ 10:55 A.M.: Evan

Floor 23.

At least the floor where the concierge had directed me was a prime number. I chose to take it as a good sign.

Even though the state-of-the-art elevator I rode in was spacious and airy, I felt a bit like a mouse in a trap.

Tugging at the too-tight collar of my sweater, I took a deep breath to try and calm down. After all, this was just a job interview. Like many more I had done before it, and many more I would likely do after. 

And I came here out of mere curiosity—not because I was really eager to work for an insurance company.

I had not invested much time whatsoever in the job application I had sent.

Fueled by one beer too many, I just had slapped up my CV from the university's website and composed a brief motivational letter. The latter talked about my plans to meld the playful soul of math and the steel muscle of business and my determined intentions to cut random risk with the sharp edge of statistics. Unfortunately, before sobering up and coming to my senses, I had already clicked the Send button.

Their invitation call had taken me entirely by surprise.

So here I was, in an elevator while watching my fidgeting reflection in its mirrored walls.

I had decided against a suit and tie.

Jobs in insurance companies are a mathematician's dead end, Carl had said to me.

He kind of had a point. Turning my app programming hobby into a daytime job would be better than earning my living as a salaryman. The very thought of toiling in a place like this was absurd.

And they'd likely want all the employees to arrive before 9. I would have to take an earlier train.

Not the one where I had a chance to see Braces.

The cabin came to an abrupt stop, and the door slid open, revealing a rainbow-colored carpet dominated by a pink counter with the inscription Reception in large, green letters.

The comely woman sitting behind it eyed me with a wide smile. Her colors formed a pastel version of the counter she hogged. She wore a light green jacket and had silver-pink lips.

Next to her, two man-sized palm trees with cartoonishly fat trunks grew from a bathtub-shaped pot.

I checked the number displayed in the elevator. 23. Maybe the concierge had made a mistake. This didn't look like an insurance company at all.

Still, for lack of other options, I ventured out onto the soft carpet and stepped up to the counter.

"Welcome at Best Boston Insurances," the woman said, her smile unwavering.

Best Boston Insurances—I was where I should be.

"Good morning. I believe I have a meeting with Liam Lavie," I said, trying to sound confident. "My name is Evan Popplewell."

She nodded, dialed a number, and made a call. Moments later, she gave me a high-pitched he'll be right with you and gestured at a colorful assortment of beanbag chairs on the other side of the palms.

I picked a yellow one and sank into its soft embrace, which left my head at a normal person's knee level.

The bathtub-shaped palm pot next to me was a bathtub. And the palms were plastic.

A woman entered the lobby, pushing a trolley. Her smile matched the one of the woman at the desk who appeared to be the receptionist. As she was about to pass me, she stopped. "Can I offer you an apple?" She pointed at her cargo. The trolley was loaded with all kinds of different food. "Or a whole-grain muffin with organic raisins?"