Dead End Job by Ingrid Reinke Read Free Book Online Page A

dramatic fights with friends, and I figured that spending time chatting him up at work was adequate for me.
    “Just have some coffee or something, because this stuff will make you sleepy,” I warned him, reaching for my purse. As I opened it, Martin let out a very gay gasp.
    “Oh My God! I forgot to tell you!”
    “What?” Lord , I can’t put up with a Dancing with the Stars recap right now. I took a deep breath and handed him the pill.
    “There’s a position on the internal job board I’m posting next week that I think you would be perfect for. I’ll totes send you the details after I take this little baby. It’s a new coordinator position for the big merger with NorCom PR. You would be able to work out of our office part of the time, but most of the work would be down in Portland. You love travelling! It’s totes perfect for you. It’s hush-hush, though, so don’t say anything until it’s actually posted. I’ll send you the email.”
    “Uh, K thanks, Hon.” I had serious doubts that I would be considered for the position. Admins were always looked over for promotions and raises. I’d discovered over the past eighteen months that being an admin was the kiss of death for someone who wanted a career in consulting. If you were hired on as an admin, it didn’t matter what your contribution was, you were not going to get a promotion.  Most likely, a twenty-three-year-old fresh out of university would be brought on for the job you applied for and paid 30% more than you with bonuses.
    When Martin walked away, and I went back to my aimless internet wandering, this time looking at the five-day weather forecast for June sixteenth through the twenty-first. Rain and 63, partly-sunny 62, partly-sunny 64, rain 61, scattered showers and 65. This not-so-sunny outlook matched my mood. When Martin emailed me the job description a little while later, I just rolled my eyes, choosing to not open the email. I preferred instead to browse my favorite gossip site and ignore the phone calls that I kept getting from Elaine, our psychotic department head, who had flown out to Manhattan the night before. I didn’t know if I should be complimented or insulted, but Elaine’s narcissism made her assume that I always knew exactly what and who she was talking about, often without any key facts or explanations offered. I didn’t have the energy this morning to push back, so I went along with Elaine’s email, which, as always, lacked clarity and detail of any kind:
              “Find Sarah. Need call.”
              Sarah was an important Principal in our group—not only was she second-in-line behind Elaine for the office head position, but she also supervised most of the staff. Her status gave her the dubious prestige of working out of the office right next to Elaine’s at the west corner of the building, near the back entrance. Because I was in the very center of the building, I rarely saw her unless we had a team meeting or I ran into her at the ladies room. That was OK with me—she was one of those people who didn’t seem to possess the social skills needed to determine whether the person you were speaking to was actually interested in the conversation. Poor Sarah also had terrible timing. Being a very sweet and verbose woman, she had made several sad attempts to befriend me and the other twenty-somethings in the office, but despite her best efforts, we could not be sold on her endless rambling stories about her children’s softball games or her husband’s attempts at home remodeling. So about three months ago, she just stopped making the effort. I don’t think anyone besides me really noticed too much of a difference, because Sarah was the head attorney in our group, so her schedule was always crazy. Between the merger and her kids’ softball games, at any hour of the day it seemed that she was either working or bussing some snot-nosed brat around to a tournament or practice. I often saw