Megan bent over to buckle her strappy-pump-sandle that has been ceaselessly causing a tripping hazard all morning. She didn't need it - not today. Her boss had been berating her with emails each new one specifying an additional detail to the business proposal for the Shoehorn company Schaufensterschiebe Ltd. The idea was that the company would have a large share in the free market for Schaufenstersheibe Ltd. and use their investor partners to capitalize on any gains, yet the conglomerate partners could withstand a market correction without any severe loss. She needed a 'black as the night' coffee more than she needed to think about this proposal anymore.
She summoned the elevator with an over zealous thumb. She waited, and waited. Whatever floor it had stopped on someone was lingering with the door open, probably catty front-desk receptionists discussing hair salons, or pedicurists, or their executive three-figure-salary husbands. None of these things were any excuse to slow anyone else's productivity. Her ears heated as frustration rose to her head. Finally the elevator doors glided open with a chime, and she gathered her irritated thoughts and sent them peering out her eyes with a glare but she slapped an office appropriate smile across her face. She tiptoed delicately into the elevator adjusting the breast pocket of her suit. There stood a young (male) scholarly looking executive with a gigantic briefcase.
"Seventh floor please," She sheepishly requested even though she was as close to the button as he was. Somehow she felt like being ultra feminine and demure. He pushed the button with masculine ease as a little smile crossed his face. She knew that was not a friendly 'glad to help' smile but a subtle display of perceived status. She liked being underestimated. It meant she had the upper hand; at the moment when it's least expected - wham - she bursts with confidence that could champion Alpha - not Beta any day.
The elevator seemed to be weighted down - like the two people within were modern day woolly mammoths taking a bus full of tourists for a ride. Clunk-clunk. The lights within the elevator flickered off and emergency red floor lighting came on.
"They must have scheduled maintenance - nothing to fear," the bold faced executive said as he tousled his dirty blond hair. Megan chuffed. She pressed the "emergency call" button at the bottom of the elevator dials. A beep - and then nothing. "What would maintenance require anyways?" She questioned blondie's theory.
"In order to keep things clean they must biweekly apply an electrical oil to keep the lines lubricated." He said without hesitation. She could tell he was full of it. So she wanted to see how far she could take it - could she bullshit with more confidence?
"What about the ball bearings in the hydraulics, don't they release pressure in the dolly?" Megan the Champion Alpha spoke.
"They can do that, but when they release pressure the lines have to balance within the electronics." Blondie Beta attempted to assert himself.
"Oh, I see." Megan did not surrender, but she decided she did not want to be stuck in the elevator with a man she belittled. The art of conversation : change the subject.
"Which department do you work in?" Megan crossed her hands in front of her pencil skirt like a poised lady. "Management of distribution and marketing," blondie said in a deeper voice than previously used almost as if he was asserting his superiority. "Oh, I'm just in financial administration," her voice became Beta again. "Why do you say 'just'?" He softened. "It's not a major role," she said as she smiled crookedly. "But it's vitally necessary," He stated assuredly. He was slowly gaining humility points.
"How long have you been working with the company?" She asked as she leaned back against the wall. "Since Arnie expanded the company into the US I've been a liaison with the shoe horns for needy children project," he proudly replied. Hmmm. She sincerely hoped all those needy children had shoes in the first place. "That must be rewarding." She admitted while considering donating her old shoes to the cause. Although she wondered how many children really NEEDED stilettos.
"When did you join the company? And I don't think I introduced myself I'm Frank Schaufensterscheibe." He inquired as Megan's face turned a sun-crisped shade of beet red. This was the nephew of the big boss! He would later receive the billion dollar shoehorn franchise. She was just beginning to feel comfortable being stuck in an elevator with this man - now she feared her job security if she admitted anything: she had been tucking post-it notes and miscellaneous office supplies into her purse for the last six months.
"W-w-ow!" She stuttered, "I had no idea!"
"Please, I'm just an employee for my Uncle. I do what he says and he gave me a fancy job title and benefits package." Frank put his briefcase down - there was no sense carrying it when he's going to be stuck chit-chatting with Megan from finances until help arrives. "Have you always done this type of work?" Frank asked with a friendly grin. "I worked at the Stroop Waffle House to put myself through business school," Megan admitted. "I love Stroop Waffles!" Frank exploded with a boyish grin fit for Christmas day.
Suddenly a voice came through the elevator doors. "Is everyone okay? The fire department is on their way!"
Megan looked at Frank "I still get a discount on waffles if you'd like to come with me sometime?" She twisted coyly.
"How about once we're out of the elevator?" He said as he loosened his tie and let out a freeing sigh.
Frank and Megan drove to the Stroop Waffle house in Frank's luxury sport Volkswagon with leather seats. Megan ordered a jet black coffee and Frank ordered a Shirley Temple - because he no longer cared what anyone thought of him and he loved cherries.
Then they split a massive Stroop waffle, got whipped cream on their faces, and casually admired the fish tank next to the table. There was a lone red Beta fish glaring at them as they ate.