Alter Ego

The Conference

I adjusted my gray paisley tie one more time in front of my hotel room mirror. All of the wrinkles of my navy suit were ironed out yesterday and my hair was carefully sculpted out of my face. I dreaded hobnobbing and networking - but at least I looked like I did.

Turning to search for the TV remote on the bed, I reached over and flipped off the news that played in the background. One last check that my shoelaces were actually tied - and yes, they were - and then I grabbed my briefcase to head out the door.

I nodded politely to an elderly couple that walked past me, as I pulled the door noiselessly shut behind me. They looked like they were about to head to the pool. Wouldn't that be nice?

I'd be sweating profusely and shaking hands with all sorts of germy people. So yes, I'd take a chemically treated pool over all of that. But it was my turn to represent our company at the conference this year. The company wasn't paying me to lounge around in the pool. Yet.

The hotel room doors all faced towards the center of the expansive hotel lobby, with two glass elevators on each side. Potted palm trees stretched up to at least the third floor and I wondered whether or not they were fake as I rode the glass elevator down. Once the elevator reached the lobby, I walked out to the sound of a rushing fountain in the middle. This place was really going all-out on the tropical feel.

I followed the crowd of power suited men and women to the convention center, checking my wristwatch every so often to avoid eye contact. I'd need a bit more included-in-conference-fee coffee to get there.

Finally, I made my way to conference room C for my first session of the day. I found a table off to the left in the back that looked uninhabited. I set down my briefcase on a chair and pushed it in, before wandering back to the hallway where the continental breakfast and coffee spread was. I was lucky that I was an "early bird" type of person. None of the pastries had been picked over yet and the coffee bar was pristine.

Quickly selecting a danish and a coffee with just a splash of cream and Splenda, I speed-walked back to my table, silently hoping it would remain uninhabited.

No such luck.

I think I did a pretty good job of hiding the disgust on my face and set down my breakfast in front of my briefcase. A tall, slender man with a clean, chestnut crew cut started to unbutton his gray suit jacket and set his briefcase down two chairs to the right of me.

"Good morning," I attempted to greet him, taking my briefcase off of my chair and setting it on the floor between the legs of my chair.

He laughed, and at that moment, I realized I must have come off as sassy to him. "Good morning to you, too."

"Sorry," I grumbled, setting down the danish my stomach was groaning for. "I'm kind of a bear in the morning." Well, that was putting it lightly. And hopefully, I wouldn't run into him later, so he wouldn't realize I'm a bear all the time.

"Aren't we all?" He joked, then slid out of his jacket and set it on the back of his chair. "I think I'll hit the breakfast bar too. Can I interest you in a peace offering?"

"I don't need a peace offering. Thanks, though," I waved him off. Those kinds of gestures always seemed nonchalant, right?

He smirked, then turned to fix his own breakfast. I pulled out my phone to see a few unread emails. One of which was from Nicholas Doyle, a colleague I had been working with and corresponding to via email for the past few months. We were tackling a huge multi-state project - he was the visionary, and me, the detail-man. I guess it was a bounce-back email saying he'd be out of the office for a few days. Hmm, nothing too crazy.