I draw in a deep breath, filling my lungs as much as possible, and force my fingers to stop fidgeting with the perfectly pressed hem of my blouse. Around me, the hustle of cars and people speed past. I focus on those sounds for a long moment, centering myself.
This is it. After so long, after so many struggles, I’ve finally made it here. I open my eyes and look up at the impossibly tall, shiny building looming in front of me: McNamara Enterprises, the largest, richest company in Los Angeles. If I sat down to think about just how much control this massive company had in America, it would be overwhelming. Food, technology, clothing… if I could name it, McNamara Enterprises would likely be involved in it in some way.
And now I’ll be working for this massive company. All my years at college suddenly feel worth all the pain and tears it took to get to this point. Not only is the salary far larger than I was expecting, but I’m essentially set for life.
If I can get past the probation period, that is.
I breathe in deeply again. I know I’m good. I was always at the top of my classes and I graduated with honors. I’ve heard how hard it is to get past probation here, but I know I can do it.
I smooth down my skirt, hitch my bag higher on my shoulder, and stride forward with my chin raised determinedly. There is nothing stopping me now. I have my foot in the door and I won’t waste it.
Inside, the building is even busier than it is outside. My steps falter for a moment, trying to take it all in. Several men and women in business attire are power walking in all different directions, some of them on the phone, some of them carrying piles of paperwork, and others cursing while glancing at their watches as they dash for the elevator.
There are five receptionists at the front desk. All of them are on the phone as several people stand at the desk, waiting semi-patiently. I glance at my own watch, stunned at how busy it is for eight-thirty in the morning. I’m early, so I didn’t expect to see such a hive of activity here.
But it’s heartening, too. It means that there’s always something to do, always some sort of challenge to meet. That’s what I wanted when I applied for this internship, doing everything in my power to ensure that I got an interview. I need a job that will occupy me wholly. I’d get too bored, otherwise.
I glance down at the folder I’m carrying and open it, double-checking the location on it. I’m meant to be on the third floor in room 307. I’ll be meeting Sandra Lawrence, who will be overseeing my internship for the time that I’m here.
Mine and others, I remind myself. I’m not the only one here. Several others have also been chosen for the internship and we’re all vying for the same precious few job offers that would be sent around in three months. If I do well at the internship, I will be more likely to get that job.
I don’t plan on failing.
As I step into the elevator, several other people barge in after me. I step neatly to the side, unwilling to be shoved to the back. Light, soothing music plays overhead as the elevator rises slowly, completely at odds with the frantic, frustrated air in the metal box.
When it finally stops on the third floor, I’m more grateful than I can say to extricate myself and smooth down my clothes. I pat my hair back into place as the doors slide shut once more behind me.
It’s a little calmer here on the third floor. Not everyone has arrived at their desks for the morning and those that have are milling around, yawning as they copy documents on the printer or blinking as they make coffee in a tiny kitchenette. A few people are on the phone, speaking into their headsets with low voices while they scribble down notes.
This is where I will be working for, at the very least, the next few months. I pause to take a look around, drinking in the sight and familiarizing myself with every aspect of it. If I can pull it off, this is where I’ll be working for the foreseeable future.
Still, I have an appointment to show up for, and I can’t dawdle if I want to show that I’m capable