Facing the Conversation

Photo credit: Robsalot (that's me!)

They are talking about hair, specifically what salon they go to, and what they get done there, and blah blah blah. How did I get ensnared in this conversation? I don’t give a shit about hair, I cut mine maybe twice a year, and yet here I am, trapped.

I am having an out of body experience, or maybe it’s a split body experience? One part of me is in this conference room, listening to this benign banter, desperately trying to interject something, anything, to make it seem like I belong here and am not just waiting for another, different discussion. That is, indecently, where the other part of me is, already rehearsing what I’m going to say when this insipid small talk ends and the real conversation begins.

I didn’t get the promotion, I already know that much. Danielle has been putting off telling me for a while now, but she seems to finally have gotten up the courage, which is why she asked me to stick around after the meeting to talk. But then Cindy stayed too, and they somehow started chatting about their hair, and here I am, waiting. Cindy can’t seem to take the hint that she should leave, get out, so we can get this over with. Meanwhile I’m trying to build a strong front, impenetrable. I’m trying to anticipate what Danielle will say when she tells me, so I can provide the appropriate response, thank her for the consideration, and obviously, avoid crying.

Cindy stands to leave, finally, the door clicks shut behind her. Danielle turns to me, the look on her face squashes that last little inkling of hope that maybe I actually had been chosen. The tone in her voice sends a spider web of cracks through my carefully crafted façade. I can feel my eyes burning, growing misty. I am trying to smile, not too much, but my mouth seems to be pulled down at the corners by some invisible force. I find, for some reason, I’m nodding at every word she says. I’m not really paying attention, though; I’m just willing the conversation to be over. Finally she stops talking, I stand up, shake her hand, thank her for her consideration. There is a catch in my voice. Thankfully we are headed in separate directions as we leave the room.

I’m in the bathroom crying, it’s Friday afternoon, and I realize she has ruined my weekend. Selfish bitch, she probably wanted to unburden herself so she could enjoy hers at my expense. I push that thought away, I tell myself it’s just business, and besides, I didn’t really want the promotion anyway. Hadn’t I been thinking ever since the initial interview that I’d made a mistake by applying? That it was more responsibility than I wanted? No, I am not going to let this ruin my weekend. I splash water on my face and force a smile as I return to my desk. I hope nobody notices my red-rimmed eyes.