There’s A Chance

   “Number 10, please,” I said to the suited man across from me as I narrowly squeezed through the closing elevator doors. Out of breath from running, I checked my phone for the time and tried not to draw more attention to myself panting for air. I leaned into the handrail at my side as the man nodded to me and pressed the circle that read “10” next to the now closed doors. 

     The suited man was looking me over, presumably trying to assess my rush. I self-consciously patted down my hair that I was sure did not fare well in the dash from the coffeehouse on 82nd to the elevator. Forever falling out of a bun, I wore it down today. I hoped it would make me look sophisticated, falling in brown waves over my shoulders. At the moment, it was more of an ocean of tangles in a Tropical tsunami. 

     Looking up, I noticed the suited man’s dark eyes studying my face. Was that a smirk? A grin? 

     I glanced up at the red glowing 1 above the doors. With a sudden jolt, we began to move. I grabbed instinctively for the handrail to steady myself, looking down at my black heels to avoid looking at the man in the suit. Not the best shoes for an afternoon dash about town I decided. 

     2

     3

     Our movement stopped, and the doors slowly began to open, revealing an older gentleman who didn’t bother looking up from his phone as he barked “7”. He stepped in, turned his back on us, and went back to his phone. 

     The suited man found the 7 button and pressed it. Had he taken his eyes off me yet? Even when the man entered the elevator? I ventured a glance at him, and found him looking right into my eyes. 

     4

     “In a hurry today?” he asked, grinning with a smile so white I wondered if he ever tried coffee before. His smile also revealed a dimple on his left cheek, not his right, that somehow made him seem younger. He appeared about 32, if I had to guess. Too much sun and too little collagen supplements made me appear 48 to my actual 36. He casually leaned an elbow on the handrail as he awaited my reply, the grin locked firmly in place. 

     “Yes, could you tell?” I laughed, patting my hair down again. 

     “Just a little. I wasn’t sure if you were going to make it through the doors or bounce off them when I looked up and saw you running. Glad you made it through!” he said. The older gentleman briefly looked over at us, seemingly noticing for the first time that there were two of us in the elevator along with him. He looked up over the doors at the floor we were on, then back to his phone. Which must have been more entertaining than we were. 

     5

     “Me too. I have an interview today and I can’t be late for it. Well, I suppose I can be late but that’s not any way to make a good first impression,” I said, and impulsively checked the time on my phone again. Still good. But not by much. Part of me wanted the elevator to hurry up, and a larger part wanted it to break down completely. Stuck in an elevator with a handsome dimpled man was not the worst thing that could happen today. But with my luck, it would break down on floor 6 before the older gentleman parted ways with us. An aggravated third wheel who would undoubtedly press the emergency button and ruin any chance of phone number exchanges before a heroic janitor saved us from our impending doom. Focus here, focus. I need to concentrate on getting this job, not getting a phone number from a stranger in an elevator. 

     6

     7

     “Harrumph,” the older gentleman said as he made his way to the opening doors. I wasn’t sorry to see him go. I wondered how many years he’d been working in this building. I’ve not held a job for longer than five months. Not enough time to get comfortable or jaded. Moving on was my thing. How I operated. In jobs, friends, men. This handsome suited guy was actually probably lucky I’d be getting off soon too. Maybe he’s the kind of guy who digs his heels in and hangs on. Who wants more than a few weeks or months out of someone. And that’s not me. 

     8

     “What are you interviewing for? I’ve worked here for years. Not a bad place to call your second home, if you’re an overachiever. I spend most of my time here.”

     “It’s an accounting job. I’m pretty good with numbers. They make sense to me, when a lot of times the rest of life does not. It’s like they’re a comfort in a confusing world. One plus one will always equal two. There’s security in that,” I said, not knowing why I was suddenly sharing so much with a stranger. 

     9

     “Have you had many accounting jobs before?” he asked.

     “Yeah, I’ve worked in quite a few, from small businesses to large accounts. I liked them both, for different reasons. And I like the job I have now. It’s pretty interesting, and the people are all nice, I just need a change. You know? I want to experience more, get my hands into different things. I’m not really one to settle. I want challenges,” I thought out loud. 

     “I get that,” he said, with a pensive look on his face. He was thinking about something. Maybe about his job, and if he wanted more challenges too. What does he do here anyway? 

     10

     “I’m sorry, this is my stop. I need to get moving to my interview. Thanks for chatting. Hey, wish me luck!” I said, watching the doors open. Should I ask his name? Try to get his number before running down the hallway to my interview? 

     “I don’t think you need luck. I’ll see you Monday. Report back here, and my secretary will take you to HR and get your paperwork done. Congrats on getting the job,” he said with his dimpled smile and got off the elevator on the 10th floor. 

     My jaw opened as the elevator doors closed. I pressed 1, and tried to wrap my head around what just happened. And smiled. This is going to be the start of something great. In 10, 9, 8, 7, 6…