I can’t shake the feeling of disappointment. I had applied for the position online, but had never stepped foot in the building before and was expecting something a lot more . . . well, a lot more like Carter Clinton. How far I have fallen.
Not even a minute passes before a man in a tweed suit with a small pot belly walks into the lobby. He smiles at me and holds out his hand. I stand and shake it. His wrist and fingers are limp like a dead fish. You can tell a great deal about a person through a handshake. Lingering handshakes usually indicate the person is needy or clingy. Firm and fast handshakes show people who know they are important and don’t have time for pleasantries. Limp ones are of underachievers, those with no drive or motivation. Yet another red flag.
“Charlotte,” I introduce myself.
“I’m Bill. Come on back. Want a coffee or anything?”
I shake my head no and follow him through a doorway and into the main office area. There are ten or twelve cubicles that line the walls. Motivational posters that say words like “Achieve!” and “Teamwork!” are placed sporadically throughout. Employees are in a wide variety of activities. A girl with jet black hair is chewing gum and talking into a cell phone about a guy she met on the weekend. A man with glasses and a goatee sips a steaming drink from a mug that proclaims him as ‘World’s Greatest Dad’ while typing a Word document. Two other women in dresses and frumpy sweaters chat in front of the ladies washroom but duck their heads and scurry back to their desks when they see Bill approaching with me in tow.
Bill leads me to the far end of the floor to an office with his name emblazoned on the door. We enter and he invites me to take a seat. There are books everywhere, stacked three high on the bookshelves along the wall, piled on the floor, scattered on his desk. He sees me looking and says with a chuckle, “I am a bit of a hoarder when it comes to good literature.”
“Are these, um, all law books?” I ask for lack of anything else to say.
Bill sinks into his chair behind the desk with a sigh and shakes his head. “No, a lot of them are, but I have a few Dan Brown novels and whatnot thrown in. A good man is nothing without a good book, I always say.”
“John Clancy?” My dad used to read his books and he is the first author to come to mind.
Bill grins, displaying a slight double chin and nods. “Oh yes. My ex got the house and dog in the divorce, but I walked away the winner with all the John Clancy books.” He waves at a vague place over his shoulder where, I presume, those books now reside.
I clear my throat and sit up straighter in my chair. I’m not sure when the official interview will begin, but I want to make a good impression. Bill must read my body language as his cue to begin, because he takes a binder out of a drawer and picks up a pen. Then he leans across the desk toward me and asks, “So, Charlotte, tell me about yourself. You are highly qualified and your resume speaks volumes. What is your specialization?”
“Well,” I begin a bit hesitantly, “in school I enjoyed my social rights and equality classes the most, but when I went to article at Carter Clinton, I came to appreciate the intricacies of corporate law and litigation. Most of my year articling was spent doing litigation.”
He scribbles something into the binder. “Your grades speak for themselves during school. You graduated top of your class, and it looks like the lowest grade you received was an A minus.”
“That is correct.”
“That is a very impressive grade point average indeed, especially for law school.” He writes something else then gazes across the desk at me. He absently chews on the back of the pen and I avert my eyes. I hate it when people morph into human beavers. “Now, you didn’t study a lot of environmental law, and yet here you are.” It isn’t a question, but he waits for my response anyway.
“Well, of course I
Not even a minute passes before a man in a tweed suit with a small pot belly walks into the lobby. He smiles at me and holds out his hand. I stand and shake it. His wrist and fingers are limp like a dead fish. You can tell a great deal about a person through a handshake. Lingering handshakes usually indicate the person is needy or clingy. Firm and fast handshakes show people who know they are important and don’t have time for pleasantries. Limp ones are of underachievers, those with no drive or motivation. Yet another red flag.
“Charlotte,” I introduce myself.
“I’m Bill. Come on back. Want a coffee or anything?”
I shake my head no and follow him through a doorway and into the main office area. There are ten or twelve cubicles that line the walls. Motivational posters that say words like “Achieve!” and “Teamwork!” are placed sporadically throughout. Employees are in a wide variety of activities. A girl with jet black hair is chewing gum and talking into a cell phone about a guy she met on the weekend. A man with glasses and a goatee sips a steaming drink from a mug that proclaims him as ‘World’s Greatest Dad’ while typing a Word document. Two other women in dresses and frumpy sweaters chat in front of the ladies washroom but duck their heads and scurry back to their desks when they see Bill approaching with me in tow.
Bill leads me to the far end of the floor to an office with his name emblazoned on the door. We enter and he invites me to take a seat. There are books everywhere, stacked three high on the bookshelves along the wall, piled on the floor, scattered on his desk. He sees me looking and says with a chuckle, “I am a bit of a hoarder when it comes to good literature.”
“Are these, um, all law books?” I ask for lack of anything else to say.
Bill sinks into his chair behind the desk with a sigh and shakes his head. “No, a lot of them are, but I have a few Dan Brown novels and whatnot thrown in. A good man is nothing without a good book, I always say.”
“John Clancy?” My dad used to read his books and he is the first author to come to mind.
Bill grins, displaying a slight double chin and nods. “Oh yes. My ex got the house and dog in the divorce, but I walked away the winner with all the John Clancy books.” He waves at a vague place over his shoulder where, I presume, those books now reside.
I clear my throat and sit up straighter in my chair. I’m not sure when the official interview will begin, but I want to make a good impression. Bill must read my body language as his cue to begin, because he takes a binder out of a drawer and picks up a pen. Then he leans across the desk toward me and asks, “So, Charlotte, tell me about yourself. You are highly qualified and your resume speaks volumes. What is your specialization?”
“Well,” I begin a bit hesitantly, “in school I enjoyed my social rights and equality classes the most, but when I went to article at Carter Clinton, I came to appreciate the intricacies of corporate law and litigation. Most of my year articling was spent doing litigation.”
He scribbles something into the binder. “Your grades speak for themselves during school. You graduated top of your class, and it looks like the lowest grade you received was an A minus.”
“That is correct.”
“That is a very impressive grade point average indeed, especially for law school.” He writes something else then gazes across the desk at me. He absently chews on the back of the pen and I avert my eyes. I hate it when people morph into human beavers. “Now, you didn’t study a lot of environmental law, and yet here you are.” It isn’t a question, but he waits for my response anyway.
“Well, of course I
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