08.26.2002
The fluorescent lights over head flickered in a pattern only to be discovered with chaos theory, casting their vaguely green light across room, in all areas except one corner that was strangely dark. A large woman stuffed into a worn green dress whose buttons looked like they would burst any second slumped in a chair and typed away like a woodpecker on her typewriter. Around her ears was a pair of headphones that must have been feeding her a dictation because her eyes rarely met the stream of paper that flowed from the cylinder but were rather on the thick paperback novel open on her desk. It gave the uncanny impression that she was transcribing some trashy western romance instead of whatever notes were recorded by her employer. Every few minutes, a bell would ring and, with a large meaty hand, she would slam the protruding appendage back to the right or yank the sheet away and feed in another to the hungry maw of her machine and begin again as though she had been typing the whole time.
Matching the beat of the keys clicking was a regular tap-tapping on the mausoleum white linoleum floor by a shoed foot that shook like the luff in a sail. Normally people would complain about the form Chad's release of nervous energy chose to express its self with, but the room was empty and he both the Secretary were too preoccupied with their tasks at hand to notice.
Chad attempted to knot and re-knot his tie in the stainless steel reflection of the office's walls but had yet to achieve one to his satisfaction. The paneling was slightly warped and created an image that reminded him of a carnival's funhouse mirror making the ability to judge the quality of his knot severely limited. Depending on his angle to the wall, it looked either too large or too small, but always messy.
Finally he achieved one that looked all right from most angles of reflection in the wall and settled back into his metal chair. As he looked around, he began to notice that everything was made out of the same material, from the coffee cup on the secretary's desk to the chair he sat in. The room felt like the interior of a battleship and circulated air about as well and Chad found himself loosening his tie just to cool off a bit. The single ceiling fan turned lazily, moving about as much air as his leg as it thumped restlessly.
Without any warning, the typing ceased and the secretary said loudly over her Dictaphone, "Mister Campanile, you can go on in." With a thumb as thick as his wrist, she motioned in the direction of the dark corner. As soon as she was certain he knew his way, the hand dropped and the click of the typewriter began again. With trepidation, Chad stood and ran a nervous hand over his gray suit, hoping to flatten the wrinkles that now seemed hopelessly permanent. With slow steps, he made his way around the secretary's desk and stepped into the shadow only to find a door he didn't know existed which he opened with a slow twist on the knob and a gentle push.
Behind the secret door was another room decorated exactly the same way except it had a window that looked out upon the city below. In the center was a desk, also seemingly made out of the decorator's favorite material, so large it left only a foot of clearance on each side to step past and made the thin man behind it look like a toothpick in a club sandwich.
"Mister Campanile, please come in," the man beckoned Chad as he entered, holding his hat out before him like a shield. In front of the desk was a chair like the ones in the waiting room, steel, of course, with thin strips of leather that were to ostensibly serve as padding. Chad meekly took the seat and waited for the thin man to speak.
"Well," he said. "The very fact that you're here means you must be something special, Mister Campanile." He leaned back, behind his desk and lit a cigarette with a desk lighter disguised as a golfer in mid-swing. Chad had heard the words but the look on the face across the sea of metal told him that it was not a serious compliment. "I only have one real question for you."
"Yes sir," Chad asked surprised.
"What's your personal philosophy?"
"Sir," Chad asked confused.
"My brother for instance," the man explained. "He won't sleep with thin women. He says that if you're going to put up with the hassles of getting them in bed in the first place, he wants a lot of them. It's like getting breakfast at a diner, you understand?"
Chad shook his head, honestly confused with the whole line of questioning.
"If you're going to get up in the morning and go get breakfast at a diner, you don't get a small one. You want as many eggs and pieces of bacon as you can get. My brother's the same way about women," the man said with a wave of his hand. Chad noticed that the nameplate on his desk – nothing more than another piece of metal folded to a forty-five degree angle with stamped letters – said his name was "Charles Rand," a piece of information he had been missing the whole time.
"Yes sir," Chad said quietly.
"So I want to know what you're personal philosophy is," Rand said.
"Well sir, I don't really have one."
"Son," said Rand, who looked no more than a couple years older than Chad. "Do you know what company this is?"
"Yes sir."
"Well then you should know that every employee at SteelCor is supposed to have some sort of personal philosophy. Take mine for instance," Rand said as he looked around his office with a sense of awe. Chad followed his eyes and at first thought they were searching for a slow moving fly. "I believe we make the finest product in the world and I demand that, in my office, it's used for everything it can be. I'd wear steel underwear if I could, and believe you me, it's only a matter of time until the boys in the lab come up with a way to do it."
"It's a very good idea, sir," Chad mumbled.
"It's not just an idea, it's an ethos. Do you understand son?"
"Yes sir, I think I do."
"Then tell me, what do you believe in?"
Chad fumbled with his tie nervously as he tried to brainstorm an answer but nothing came to mind. Nothing useful anyway. Images of his girlfriend home in bed, curled up in their sheets, and hugging his pillow in place of him flooded his mind. The harder he thought, the more inappropriate things flooded his mind. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate, to think of something he subscribed to and followed, but pictures of his girlfriend in a nightgown, at the park, naked in bed, at a restaurant eating linguini, feeding their fish, making them dinner, and more paraded through his brain faster than the faint clicking of the large woman's typewriter in next room. Finally he yanked his eyes open and stared right into the eyes of the man across the desk, wiping the tears off his cheeks.
"Well," Charles Rand said impatiently.
"Sir," Chad said slowly, measuring his words before he let them leave his mouth. "The only thing I believe in is the girl I love. She's the only thing I care about and the whole reason I'm here. I would like to make enough money to give her the life she deserves."
Rand leaned across his desk and picked up his nameplate which he began to polish with his tie. After a moments thought, he plucked the cigarette from his mouth and cleared his throat. "Well son," he said, leaving the words to hang in the air as he ordered the rest of what he had to say. "That's not really the philosophy that we're looking for here."
Chad felt a grin sneak across his face as he picked his hat up off his knee and stand. "I'm sorry to hear that, sir," he said.
"I'd suggest that if you want a job anywhere, you find a new one."
"Yes sir," he said before turning to the door to the outer office and exiting the room.
As he passed the secretary, walking with a confident stride that belied his newfound purpose, she yanked her headphones from her ears and asked, "So what was your personal philosophy?" Chad stopped, spun on his heel, told her exactly what he had told Charles Rand then turned again and headed home where, if he was lucky, he would find his ethos still in bed, fast asleep, and ready for him to snuggle up against.
As the secretary replaced the headphones and flipped a page in her novel, she said quietly, "That's the best one I've heard so far."