Everybody Out! - Part 4

“Oh, wonderful. I’m so pleased. I think you may do very well.” The woman introduced herself. “I’m Angela, by the way. I can see how enthusiastic you are, Adrian. Tell me, have you had much luck in life?”

Such an odd thing to ask, he thought. She sounded like a bloody fortune teller. A hot fortune teller, it’s true, but even so; what sort of question was that? The funny thing was, he found himself suddenly telling her everything, all the slights he’d suffered as a rep, the misery and humiliation of unsuccessful jobs due to the incompetence of the idiots who paid his salary, the barely hidden sniggering asides from kids half his age at coffee machines. All of it. Every damn let down, every lonely night nursing a pint at a table on his own at the pub, the comfort eating, the smoking. He felt oddly cleansed, as if he’d offloaded to a priest in the confessional. Angela patted his hand, and he could swear her denim eyes were moist with empathy.

“Now, Adrian” she said, standing up. “We do of course need you to complete a practical test before we can take you on. I hope that’s acceptable to you, but you do understand?”

“Of course, of course” Adrian nodded keenly. He’d expected some sort of test, hell, he’d had enough practice. She was probably going to show him a broken computer or maybe ask him to wire up some lighting system or something. A thought suddenly occurred to him. “Er, Angela? I don’t think your ad actually mentioned what you do, did it? Some kind of surveillance is it? Fitting electrical equipment perhaps?”

Angela paused, considering. “All will be explained shortly, Adrian. First, I need you to go up to the top floor, where someone will meet you.” She indicated a smooth black set of double doors set into a far wall. “The lifts. Just press the top button.”

He glanced round to thank her – and she had gone. As if she had never been there at all, no sound of her footsteps, no sign of any nearby door. Adrian stood in the centre of the large reception area, totally alone and staring all around him. There it was again, that off-kilter sensation, that faintly nauseous feeling as if the world had slipped off its orbit for an instant. Then it passed, and he was just Adrian again, standing like a fool on his own and approaching the lifts. There was only one button to summon the lift, and the instant he pressed it, the doors slid noiselessly open to reveal a mirrored cubicle. Expecting to see the usual row of buttons for the various floors, he was startled to see one large smooth disc with “top floor” engraved on its surface.

“Ah, must be the executive lift” he surmised, grinning cockily. “This will be my own way up to my very own office at the top; give it a year and I’ll be using this one and to hell with the plebs fighting to use the other one.” He stuck his fat finger into the disc and depressed it firmly.
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