The random musings of Kate Grace
Johnny “Entry Level” Smith sat anxiously in the leather chair, his legs crossing this way and that. He swallowed again and reached to straighten his tie, which continued to cling awkwardly to his belt when he shifted his weight, but retracted the gesture quickly when he realized his sweaty palms peeling away from the arm rests made the most lip-smackingly disgusting noise that seemed to echo throughout the corner office.
He spoke a little louder to try and disguise the noise.
“I’ve admired Big Business Corporation for years and would even dream as a young boy about one day working at this company,” said Johnny, uncrossing and recrossing his legs once more. “As you can see there by the objective on my resume it’s true. And if you look down you’ll see my multiple degrees from Jealous Aren’t U and Wish You Were AcadeME. I was president of the Random Yet Impressive Student Coalition and volunteered each weekend for the Worthy Cause Nonprofit downtown.”
Johnny watched as Mr. Suit, CEO of Big Business Corporation took in his resume line for line and thought, “Did he just nod? I think he just nodded. I am NAILING this interview.”
Johnny grew more confident as he continued to fill the silence with his many achievements and winning characteristics. Finally when he could fill the silence no more, he allowed it to spread waiting on Mr. Suit’s response. And then it came.
“I must say, Johnny, this is all very impressive,” said Mr. Suit, leaning back in his ergonomically expensive chair, expanding through the chest like a lion yawning. One arm slipped out to the side to pull a single piece of white paper from a desk drawer.
“That’s it,” thought Johnny. “That must be the official offer. My parents will be so proud!”
“Very, very impressive,” Mr. Suit said placing the single sheet of paper flat in front of him and leaning over it to consider what it said. “And almost convincing. Almost.”
The silence was back, but Johnny had no words to fill it. Instead he watched as Mr. Suit’s eyes rose from the sheet of paper and met his own.
With the tip if his middle finger, Mr. Suit slid the paper across the desk toward Johnny and spun it around. As Johnny leaned in, peeling his rubber cemented hands from the arm rests, Mr. Suit rose from his chair and walked to the windows to look out.
“You see, Johnny… just as you did your homework about us, we did our homework about you.” The warmth of shame and humiliation poured like a waterfall from the top of Johnny’s head to the tips of his Entry Level toes as he watched Mr. Suit look at him over his shoulder and say with a smirk, “It’s just good business.”
Johnny took in the paper lying on the desk before him. “Johnny Smith’s Social Media Finger Print” anchored the top of the page in big, bold lettering.
A collection of his most bitter and ill-advised web comments lie in front of him, in resume format. He skimmed the page broken down into categories: Facebook, Twitter, Google Alerts. And there it all was. Each mention he had ever made about Big Business Corporation, about how crazy nearly every Saturday night had gotten, about that girl he just dumped, about how much his parents suck, about …
“Oh no.” Johnny looked up to see Mr. Suit facing out the window seemingly checking his phone. At the bottom of the page, under Google Alerts lived the conversation he had conducted nearly two years previously on what he had thought was a private forum. It was a conversation about Mr. Suit and Big Business Corporation. How Johnny thought they were crooks, and Big Brother and deserved to go under. At the bottom of the page rested one final quote pulled from that conversation.
“JohnnyEntryLevel: Mr. Suit is an idiot. Seriously. I could do a better job than he can.”
The outer rim of Johnny’s eyes began to heat with the gathering tears. It wasn’t fair. He had said those things two years ago and didn’t really mean them, he was just venting. And that was supposed to be a private forum. How did Mr. Suit even see it. That’s not fair. It’s not fair.
As the center of his chin began to quiver, his brain searched for the button to press to make his lips form the words “Not Fair”, but his efforts were cut off by a vibration in his jacket pocket.
Mr. Suit turned to face Johnny, looking down on him and backlit by the sun beaming through his floor to ceiling windows. “You should get that,” he said.
Johnny reached into his pocket and unlocked his phone. It lit up with a message “You’ve received a Twitter mention from @MrSuit.”
“Get out of my office, @JohnnyEntryLevel. And shut the door.”
Friends don’t let friends Tweet stupidly, and this must be happening quite a bit lately because this is one HOT TOPIC! Check out D.M. Cunningham’s wise words of caution and advice in regards to the Web over at Literary Asylum.