The Presentation

Rain pelts off Susan’s umbrella as she makes her way up Newport Ave. It’s been raining for three weeks straight now and though Susan thought she enjoyed the rain when she moved to Seattle, Washington, she is now having doubts. Her very expensive rain boots, blue with white dots that rubbed her calf raw, were already letting water freeze her toes and slog her socks. Susan picked up the pace, weaving between pedestrians, the outline of her office building coming into view just a few blocks ahead. The presentation is happening in ten short minutes and Susan needs to be there. Six months of late nights and take out dinners, being berated by Jeff, her supervisor, and skimping out on her own social life. All of it was worth it for this meeting. If she nails it -- then bye-bye Jeff and hello a new office with her name on the placard.

Susan mumbled her prepared talking points as she walked. Increased margins compared to the last three years, and a projected yield 3% more than last quarter. The numbers ran through her mind, flashing before her eyes in a frenzy. She knew the project better than she knew herself, every possible answer to any possible question scripted and prepared. Susan knew she would not survive another year as a Junior Analyst, at least not in Jeff’s team. If she bombed today, then it will be time to pull the plug and start searching elsewhere. But she didn’t want to search elsewhere. She hardly wanted to entertain the idea of quitting, again. Susan thought back to her younger self -- the one who three years ago accepted her dream job and moved halfway across the country as soon as the divorce was finalized. This was supposed to be the rest of her life.

The gray sky opened for just a minute, letting the sun peek through for the first time in days. It warmed Susan’s face and she closed her eyes enjoying the precious seconds of light before it was swallowed whole again. She stumbled backwards a step. Someone had shoved past her in her moment of bliss without even a ‘sorry.’ Susan wheeled around and scanned the sidewalk for the possible perpetrator. He was walking away from her, brown jacket tucked up to his ears and wired headphones attached to his ears. Susan huffed. She didn’t have the time to track him down and let him have it. She committed the image of the back of his head in her mind and kept walking.

She shook her umbrella once she stepped through the front doors of her office building. A blast of warm air assaulted her face and sweat immediately started condensing in her armpits. Susan checked her bag for the extra container of deodorant she keeps with her and lathered it under her arms in the elevator. Ding. She steps into the office right as the clock strikes eight and takes up her position at the front of the conference room. Seats were already filled, papers being ruffled and organized. Someone clears their throat. Susan plugs in her laptop and pulls her presentation up on the big screen behind her. The room quiets and eyes trail to where she stands before them, her handouts cradled in her elbow, ready to be distributed.

Susan could feel her heart pounding, the blood rushing to her head. Her hands were shaky, like they usually are before she does any form of public speaking but she clasps them hard to not give away how much she cares about the outcome of this meeting. Jeff sits three seats to the left of Susan, twirling his pen between his fingers, looking pointedly bored. Susan looks over her notes one last time and throws a soft smile onto her face, then begins.

She explains the problem in which she was tasked with solving all those months ago, the potential solutions, and the benefits and downfalls of each, including graphs, tables and figures passed around the table to prove her point. Once the last slide fell to black, Susan felt as though she had just sprinted up Mount Everst. In a good way.

Jeff raised his hand, squinting at the last figure she handed out. One that projected the total yield after three years of implementation. Susan spent over a week analyzing the data and updating her spreadsheets to get it just right. Her hands began shaking once more.

“I’m not understanding how you came to this conclusion, Susan. Could you elaborate a bit more on your data for this figure?” Jeff asked. Small nods circulated the table.

Susan took a deep breath. “Sure, Jeff,” she said, then explained her personal process of data analysis. It was the year two’s number that made Jeff visibly cringe. His lip curled up and his eyes crinkled and she knew she had made a mistake.

Fuck. Susan glanced around the room, but it was too late. The shareholders were scrutinizing the figure, putting their heads together. “You see this?” “What is that?”

Her face warmed to the temperature of the sun and she was pretty sure she forgot how to breathe. There was still time to fix it. She could spin the mistake as purposeful, accusing another of damaging the data. Or she could own it, admit to the mistake and ask for a chance to prove herself again. She could run out of the conference room and live in a box beneath the underpass for the rest of her life. But she stayed rooted to where she was, a dumb lopsided grin still gripping her face.

“If you have questions…” Susan began, but her voice trailed off into nothingness as she noticed no one was listening to her. She rubbed her hands down her thighs and felt her chances of making a positive impression on the shareholders slip right between her fingers.

Then, her hour was over.

The conference room cleared in a matter of seconds, shareholders running off to their next meeting, their next big opportunity. Jeff was the only one still seated, the figures she created fanned out before him.

All the energy driving Susan crazy just a few minutes ago, fled her body and she slumped into the nearest chair and dropped her head into her hands.

Stupid, stupid, stupid mistake.

“That was great!,” Jeff said, his large hand clapping her on the back.

“Don’t lie to me, I’m not in the mood,” Susan groaned.

“No, seriously,” Jeff continued, “It was well thought out and very thorough. You should be proud.” The door clicked quietly behind Susan.

Alone in the conference room, Susan slowly gathered her items and checked her calendar for the rest of the day. She hovered over Jeff’s calendar, wondering if it would be considered snooping to check a public calendar, and clicked it. Colorful blocks filled her screen, all labeled with times, names and places. He was booked all morning, but after lunch there was only one meeting scheduled. The supervisor meeting, where the supervisors and managers of each team discuss who will be put up for the available promotions and who will simply be forgotten about until next time. She clicked on the details of the meeting. Only the managers names and whether they accepted the invitation was available. She pressed a few more buttons, then exited out of Jeff’s calendar and went back to her own. Her entire morning was open until an afternoon check in with her team. She packed her things, swung her bag over her shoulder and went to her small desk on the third floor.

The managers swear by the open-floor plan for team bonding and productive work, but all it gives Susan is a headache. Tiffany, who sits behind Susan, and Sherri chat all day long, at volume more appropriate for a drive bar on a Friday night. George, the one to her right, has a bad habit of smacking his gum and on the other side of Susan is where Jessica sits. Susan doesn’t have a problem with Jessica, only that the only thing she’s able to talk about is her elderly dachshund that she adores. Susan slipped in her headphones before she even stepped foot onto the floor. She’s been lucky these last few weeks with the presentation. She was able to secure a private work-room a floor down. It gave her quiet and peace and the ability to draw the blinds, but now she was back in the pit with everyone else.

“So, how’d it go?” A voice cut into her classical music playlist.

Susan pulled her headphones from her ears, “What?” She asked, though she already heard Jessica.

“How’d the meeting go? You think you got the promotion?” Jessica was in her late twenties with shiny black hair and almond eyes. Susan’s hand glided through her own brittle hair hanging just above her shoulders. Not because she liked it that way, but because after years of bleaching it, it can’t grow much further.

“Fine. I think,” She said and turned back to her desk. She left her ear empty though, and Jessica took that as an invitation.

“You are definitely a shoe-in for the position. You have been here the longest. What did Jeff say?”

“Oh, um. He said I should be proud of myself,” Susan said.

“There’s no way you didn’t get it. When will you know?”

“Eh, there’s a chance. And later today maybe, if I did get it.” Susan sat on her shaking hands. She wished she had Jessica’s optimism. A way of seeing the positives of every situation, but deep down, Susan knew she didn’t get the promotion. They are looking for reliable, hardworking candidates and Susan was anything but. Sure, she could work hard when needed, and she showed up most of the time but she wasn’t perfect. She had just screwed up her one project in front of the people that pay her boss's boss's boss’s salary. Susan needed to be perfect this morning and she wasn’t. It was that man on the street, he disrupted her stream of thought. If he hadn’t bumped into her, Susan knew that she would have caught the mistake before she made it to the meeting. She was sure that she would have been able to avoid the embarrassment of it. If only.

Eleven sixteen in the morning. Susan got up from her desk and made her way to the street for an early lunch. The sun was peeking between the clouds yet the sidewalk was still damp and rain still ran into the sewers. Two blocks south and she slipped into a coffee shop owned by an elderly couple Susan used to help by doing their taxes. Susan referred them to another colleague with a big heart as she got too busy with her other responsibilities. That had been the last time she had a friendship outside of work, if her coworkers counted as friendships. Two young girls fresh out of high school were at the front. She ordered her usual and sat in the booth that had a direct view of nearly the whole shop. She likes to watch people here. With several office buildings and a high school nearby, some fascinating people come in and out. This coffee shop might be the only thing she likes about Seattle.

It was almost time to get back to work when he walked in. The same brown jacket and dark hair with wired headphones draped around his neck. Susan was behind him in line before she could think further. Then, she tapped on his arm.

The man turned slowly, confused. “Yes?”

“You owe me an apology,” She said. The man was much taller than her, so much so that she had to crane her neck to look at him. He turned back around.

Susan tapped him again. “You ran into me this morning on the street. You owe me an apology,” She hissed at him.

“Fuck off,” He said without looking at her.

Susan’s skin began to itch, her vision turning red. She gripped his stupid brown jacket and pulled. He swung around, caught off guard. She pointed a finger in his face, “I said, you owe me an apology.”

The man’s eyes were huge, jumping between her finger and her vengeful face. “You are one miserable lady.” He said, then quickly fled the scene.

Everyone had stopped what they were doing to witness her outburst and the rage faded to embarrassment. Blood rushed to her ears and her hands began to shake.

The cool afternoon wind sliced into Susan’s warm cheeks. She can’t believe she'd just done that. In public.

Maybe she was just a miserable old lady. Maybe she’s been miserable for a long time. She stopped walking. She was on Newport Ave, just a block or two from her building. It shot into the sky, blending in with the dark gray of the incoming rain clouds. She forgot her umbrella at her desk. The one that matched her boots.

Susan only started walking again when the first drops pelted against her head.