The Meet and Greet
by David Jans
I saw him standing near the far corner of the room. A tall, awkward sapling set apart from a cluster of trees swaying wistfully from breezy conversations. His branches twisted around a slumped-over trunk, and he stared directly at the roots firmly planted on the floor.
There are always a few in the forest of accounting associates who fail to reach their growth potential during the Adams and Michael LLC new hire meet and greet. It’s no wonder. The prospect of an evening full of awkward conversations with unfamiliar and fully developed timber can be daunting for the schmoozing elite, let alone the shy and introverted.
He appeared to be an extreme case, so I grabbed a Taquito, a Corona, and I set out on a rescue mission. Mexican night. Nice. Nothing like a little south of the border flavor to break down those barriers. A few recruits masquerading as a Mariachi dance troupe took the mantra a bit too far by attempting to demolish a wall in front of one of my partners. Easy Ben. Easy.
Kudos to the event decorating crew. How they managed to transform a sterile rectangular conference room into a red, yellow, and orange colored fiesta is beyond me. The room looked downright cavernous, with the ten-by-ten seating cleared out. Impressive turn-out, and man, everyone seems so locked in. It’s like I’m not even here. Good thing because this kid needs me.
“You know, it’s okay to feel uncomfortable at these things. I prefer to see new hires who are uneasy. My name is David Chapman; nice to meet you.”
His handshake was firm, and when he stood up straight, he matched every inch of my six-foot-three frame. Perhaps the fledgling oak had potential after all. He nailed the business casual look, too. The white dress shirt popping perfectly under the high-end, maroon-colored half-zip like a Stitch Fix model. But he looked like the proverbial deer in the headlights, with brown eyes as round as golf balls, awkwardly set upon an otherwise chiseled face topped by short-cropped similarly colored curly hair. They focused on anything but mine, darting around the room behind me.
“Nice to meet you too, Mr. Chapman; my name is Andrew, Andrew Price.”
“Mr. Chapman, oh wow, way too formal there, Andrew. Please call me David. Listen, I wasn’t a fan of meet and greets either at your age. Remember your buddies in the conversation mosh pit over there are just as nervous as you.”
He nodded and looked at me like a young kid does during story time. His eyes seemed to settle into a more traditional oval shape and connected with mine a bit.
“My advice to new hires is simple. Put your head down and work, and make sure your audit work papers shine. Do it for long enough, and you’ll gain the respect of your colleagues and propel yourself to more challenging work and clients. Always be humble, too, Andrew. Let your actions and work product speak for you.”
I could sense the chatter of his colleagues, which created anxiety before my arrival, now sounded more like birds chirping on a spring day.
“So, Andrew. Tell me about yourself.”
He reverted to the young oak tree for a moment, looking at the ground and losing an inch or two. To be fair, it is the mother of all open-ended questions, but I needed to expedite the vetting process.
Luckily some prime conversation fodder helped him regain his stature. He enlightened me about all things Bangor, Maine, his hometown pride shining first light like the sun does our easternmost state every morning.
And on and on it went. Free and easy. No awkward silence or one-upmanship. The rest of the room seemed to fade away as we discussed family, friends, my favorite clients, and sports. Baseball mostly. His Red Sox would be playing my Pirates in an interleague series this summer in Pittsburgh. Perfect.
I knew I should have been spreading the Adams and Michael LLC gospel amongst the rest of the new hire flock, but my feet were firmly planted with Andrew now playing the role of prophet. He had it all, flashing a razor-sharp intellect, easy-going style, and engaging personality, but his use of humor impressed me the most. We worked off of one another, the kid deftly adding cherries to top off my sweet one-liners.
The lights appeared to dim as we delved deeper into our conversation. We were on an island; one where fresh bottles of Corona seem to appear in your hand magically.
We finally did reach the point where we knew it was time to end it: our mutual love of dogs, the final destination. We basked in the warm glow of swapping tales of how our four-legged friends were preferable to the two-legged variety any day.
I extended my right hand, looked him in the eye, and wished him luck. As we were about to part ways, he said the most bizarre thing,
“Don’t be afraid, David.” He smiled warmly when he said it and turned to walk away.
It sent me reeling into a corner of my mind as a barrage of short video clips from the evening bombarded my headspace. As the production played out, I realized it starred only two players; the rest of my colleagues and his new hire class assuming the role of extras relegated to the background. Except for an opening scene comprised of a mash-up of colors, shapes, and intense sounds, the clips played out like a movie trailer. The genre, a mystery, one where two strangers meet and develop a special bond, but separate and go their own ways.
I regained my balance in time to notice Andrew about to make his way out of the room. My first step was poor, the right knee balky from too many basketball injuries, but I made up for it with a surprisingly pain-free dash.
I slid through the doorway into the hallway after slamming on the brakes, but he was gone. The hallway looked different, much longer than usual. It represented a pathway of so many memories. The glorious feeling of walking out of a presentation where I had the entire firm in the palm of my hand and the rush of sprinting out of the building after my wife Joanie called to let me know she was in labor with Amelia, our firstborn. The light seemed unusually bright.
Why in the hell would he say that? The question reverberated in my mind as I reentered the conference room. Besides the fear of failure, the propulsion of my rise to partner, I wasn’t afraid of many things. He said it with such sincerity and kindness. Whatever he meant by it, the comment sparked some serious reflection and emotion.
Seeing my three favorite people in the firm on the other side of the room holding a conversation choked me up a little bit. So many memories. I was near the spot where we split a cold case of beer to celebrate becoming new partners. We were the young guns, determined to take the firm in a new direction. What a night. What a crew.
Adam, the accountant through and through, but maybe best known for comedy and his spot-on imitation of Alex George, the long-time leader of the firm. His thumbs extended out with such force, flexing his make-believe suspenders and pontificating about the good old days. We couldn’t wait to unseat the old bastard.
Pete, the smartest guy in the room with big dreams. He could have done anything, probably cured cancer or built a new and improved microchip, but he chose public accounting.
And finally, Danny, the man who talked me down from the ledge during the Michael Carver Company restatement; the most chill person I ever met and an all-around good guy.
I looked forward to connecting with the guys to bring some order to the proceedings, but their conversation looked grim. Adam would turn it around. He’d point out my dalliance with the mysterious recruit, and all would be right with the world.
Yet here I was. A bystander on the outside looking in. Shielded. From them and the rest of the room. The lights continued to dim. The movie trailer played on a loop in my mind until a scene came into focus.
And action.
I was driving home after another long night at the office, upset at myself for missing another one of Connor’s soccer games. My phone beeps to signal an incoming text. It’s from Joanie.
I never did get to read it. The head-on collision with a semi-truck ignited the explosion of red and orange, mangled the glass into shards of every shape, and produced the horrific sound of metal crunching against metal.
Roll credits.
I was fading, the time available for exploration in the period between death and whatever comes next, slowly slipping away.
To my living room, where I saw Joanie sobbing while hugging Amelia and Connor. I touched her shoulder and whispered everything would be okay. She tilted her head ever so slightly as my hand passed through, processing the sudden surge of comfort working to dull the pain. She passed it on to the kids, strengthening her grip around their shoulders. They were both taller than her, flourishing amid awkward teenage rites of passage. I couldn’t bear to look at our black Lab, whimpering and jumping up on Connor with her paws on his hip. We had a special bond. One last, “good girl, Elsie.”
Something pulled me back to the office, to the place where I spent countless hours and fulfilled my dream of making partner. A place that ultimately led to my demise, the burden of an impossible client schedule clouding my thoughts and causing me to lose focus and drift into oncoming traffic.
The hallway beckoned. Drawing me closer with an enticing warm yellow glow radiating in the doorway. Almost there. I stepped inside. To what now resembled a tunnel, illuminated by a beautiful bright light at the end of it. A lifetime of memories rushed by as I drifted closer. The most vivid, those of my wonderful wife and kids. Our annual vacations to Hilton Head Island, where we plotted the growth of Connor and Amelia on the Stu’s Surf Side Subs sign, the thrill of watching Connor bury a shot into the side netting, and the pride of watching Amelia grow into a fine young lady and prepare to go off to college.
The work-related memories crept in, covering the colorful ones as a cloud would the sun on a rainy day, the regret of not spending more time with them permeating my entire soul.
I wish I could go back.
Back to the nights when I should have shut down the laptop and gone home.
Back to the time when Joanie suggested I seek help for the debilitating anxiety, which robbed me of joy when I was away from the office.
I could only go forward now. To the end of the hallway, where the light, which seemed so welcoming when I entered it, was now thankfully extinguished.
There are always a few in the forest of accounting associates who fail to reach their growth potential during the Adams and Michael LLC new hire meet and greet. It’s no wonder. The prospect of an evening full of awkward conversations with unfamiliar and fully developed timber can be daunting for the schmoozing elite, let alone the shy and introverted.
He appeared to be an extreme case, so I grabbed a Taquito, a Corona, and I set out on a rescue mission. Mexican night. Nice. Nothing like a little south of the border flavor to break down those barriers. A few recruits masquerading as a Mariachi dance troupe took the mantra a bit too far by attempting to demolish a wall in front of one of my partners. Easy Ben. Easy.
Kudos to the event decorating crew. How they managed to transform a sterile rectangular conference room into a red, yellow, and orange colored fiesta is beyond me. The room looked downright cavernous, with the ten-by-ten seating cleared out. Impressive turn-out, and man, everyone seems so locked in. It’s like I’m not even here. Good thing because this kid needs me.
“You know, it’s okay to feel uncomfortable at these things. I prefer to see new hires who are uneasy. My name is David Chapman; nice to meet you.”
His handshake was firm, and when he stood up straight, he matched every inch of my six-foot-three frame. Perhaps the fledgling oak had potential after all. He nailed the business casual look, too. The white dress shirt popping perfectly under the high-end, maroon-colored half-zip like a Stitch Fix model. But he looked like the proverbial deer in the headlights, with brown eyes as round as golf balls, awkwardly set upon an otherwise chiseled face topped by short-cropped similarly colored curly hair. They focused on anything but mine, darting around the room behind me.
“Nice to meet you too, Mr. Chapman; my name is Andrew, Andrew Price.”
“Mr. Chapman, oh wow, way too formal there, Andrew. Please call me David. Listen, I wasn’t a fan of meet and greets either at your age. Remember your buddies in the conversation mosh pit over there are just as nervous as you.”
He nodded and looked at me like a young kid does during story time. His eyes seemed to settle into a more traditional oval shape and connected with mine a bit.
“My advice to new hires is simple. Put your head down and work, and make sure your audit work papers shine. Do it for long enough, and you’ll gain the respect of your colleagues and propel yourself to more challenging work and clients. Always be humble, too, Andrew. Let your actions and work product speak for you.”
I could sense the chatter of his colleagues, which created anxiety before my arrival, now sounded more like birds chirping on a spring day.
“So, Andrew. Tell me about yourself.”
He reverted to the young oak tree for a moment, looking at the ground and losing an inch or two. To be fair, it is the mother of all open-ended questions, but I needed to expedite the vetting process.
Luckily some prime conversation fodder helped him regain his stature. He enlightened me about all things Bangor, Maine, his hometown pride shining first light like the sun does our easternmost state every morning.
And on and on it went. Free and easy. No awkward silence or one-upmanship. The rest of the room seemed to fade away as we discussed family, friends, my favorite clients, and sports. Baseball mostly. His Red Sox would be playing my Pirates in an interleague series this summer in Pittsburgh. Perfect.
I knew I should have been spreading the Adams and Michael LLC gospel amongst the rest of the new hire flock, but my feet were firmly planted with Andrew now playing the role of prophet. He had it all, flashing a razor-sharp intellect, easy-going style, and engaging personality, but his use of humor impressed me the most. We worked off of one another, the kid deftly adding cherries to top off my sweet one-liners.
The lights appeared to dim as we delved deeper into our conversation. We were on an island; one where fresh bottles of Corona seem to appear in your hand magically.
We finally did reach the point where we knew it was time to end it: our mutual love of dogs, the final destination. We basked in the warm glow of swapping tales of how our four-legged friends were preferable to the two-legged variety any day.
I extended my right hand, looked him in the eye, and wished him luck. As we were about to part ways, he said the most bizarre thing,
“Don’t be afraid, David.” He smiled warmly when he said it and turned to walk away.
It sent me reeling into a corner of my mind as a barrage of short video clips from the evening bombarded my headspace. As the production played out, I realized it starred only two players; the rest of my colleagues and his new hire class assuming the role of extras relegated to the background. Except for an opening scene comprised of a mash-up of colors, shapes, and intense sounds, the clips played out like a movie trailer. The genre, a mystery, one where two strangers meet and develop a special bond, but separate and go their own ways.
I regained my balance in time to notice Andrew about to make his way out of the room. My first step was poor, the right knee balky from too many basketball injuries, but I made up for it with a surprisingly pain-free dash.
I slid through the doorway into the hallway after slamming on the brakes, but he was gone. The hallway looked different, much longer than usual. It represented a pathway of so many memories. The glorious feeling of walking out of a presentation where I had the entire firm in the palm of my hand and the rush of sprinting out of the building after my wife Joanie called to let me know she was in labor with Amelia, our firstborn. The light seemed unusually bright.
Why in the hell would he say that? The question reverberated in my mind as I reentered the conference room. Besides the fear of failure, the propulsion of my rise to partner, I wasn’t afraid of many things. He said it with such sincerity and kindness. Whatever he meant by it, the comment sparked some serious reflection and emotion.
Seeing my three favorite people in the firm on the other side of the room holding a conversation choked me up a little bit. So many memories. I was near the spot where we split a cold case of beer to celebrate becoming new partners. We were the young guns, determined to take the firm in a new direction. What a night. What a crew.
Adam, the accountant through and through, but maybe best known for comedy and his spot-on imitation of Alex George, the long-time leader of the firm. His thumbs extended out with such force, flexing his make-believe suspenders and pontificating about the good old days. We couldn’t wait to unseat the old bastard.
Pete, the smartest guy in the room with big dreams. He could have done anything, probably cured cancer or built a new and improved microchip, but he chose public accounting.
And finally, Danny, the man who talked me down from the ledge during the Michael Carver Company restatement; the most chill person I ever met and an all-around good guy.
I looked forward to connecting with the guys to bring some order to the proceedings, but their conversation looked grim. Adam would turn it around. He’d point out my dalliance with the mysterious recruit, and all would be right with the world.
Yet here I was. A bystander on the outside looking in. Shielded. From them and the rest of the room. The lights continued to dim. The movie trailer played on a loop in my mind until a scene came into focus.
And action.
I was driving home after another long night at the office, upset at myself for missing another one of Connor’s soccer games. My phone beeps to signal an incoming text. It’s from Joanie.
I never did get to read it. The head-on collision with a semi-truck ignited the explosion of red and orange, mangled the glass into shards of every shape, and produced the horrific sound of metal crunching against metal.
Roll credits.
I was fading, the time available for exploration in the period between death and whatever comes next, slowly slipping away.
To my living room, where I saw Joanie sobbing while hugging Amelia and Connor. I touched her shoulder and whispered everything would be okay. She tilted her head ever so slightly as my hand passed through, processing the sudden surge of comfort working to dull the pain. She passed it on to the kids, strengthening her grip around their shoulders. They were both taller than her, flourishing amid awkward teenage rites of passage. I couldn’t bear to look at our black Lab, whimpering and jumping up on Connor with her paws on his hip. We had a special bond. One last, “good girl, Elsie.”
Something pulled me back to the office, to the place where I spent countless hours and fulfilled my dream of making partner. A place that ultimately led to my demise, the burden of an impossible client schedule clouding my thoughts and causing me to lose focus and drift into oncoming traffic.
The hallway beckoned. Drawing me closer with an enticing warm yellow glow radiating in the doorway. Almost there. I stepped inside. To what now resembled a tunnel, illuminated by a beautiful bright light at the end of it. A lifetime of memories rushed by as I drifted closer. The most vivid, those of my wonderful wife and kids. Our annual vacations to Hilton Head Island, where we plotted the growth of Connor and Amelia on the Stu’s Surf Side Subs sign, the thrill of watching Connor bury a shot into the side netting, and the pride of watching Amelia grow into a fine young lady and prepare to go off to college.
The work-related memories crept in, covering the colorful ones as a cloud would the sun on a rainy day, the regret of not spending more time with them permeating my entire soul.
I wish I could go back.
Back to the nights when I should have shut down the laptop and gone home.
Back to the time when Joanie suggested I seek help for the debilitating anxiety, which robbed me of joy when I was away from the office.
I could only go forward now. To the end of the hallway, where the light, which seemed so welcoming when I entered it, was now thankfully extinguished.
David Jans's short stories and flash fiction have been published in Red Fez, Menacing Hedge, and The Disappointed Housewife.