The drone of the air-conditioner mixes with the soft clicking of a computer mouse. Voices muffle the rock music playing overhead. The soft but consistent ringing of the phone should be the most important sound drifting past the twice-pierced earlobes into the inner workings of the human ears. Yet the sound that has taken the highest importance is that of the tapping of the keyboard, as the long acrylic nails stroke the keys with much less experience than should be permitted of a girl her own age. The ringing of the phone is nothing short of sporadic, which gives the week-old adult a window of opportunity to spend on the computer that has been provided for her. She reminds herself that the phones should be the most important thing on her mind--that is what she is getting paid for--but the soft glow of the monitor is too alluring to dismiss. The double-monitor system works to her advantage, as she can keep an eye on the callers while still attempting to break through her persistent writer's block.



She almost feels guilty, using her work's property on something that is not even remotely work related. But then she stops and listens to the absence of the phone's voice. There is no ringing at present, which means there is no work for her to do. Although in the next couple of days there will be work assigned to her. Nothing particularly difficult; just simply time-consuming. And that isn't always a bad thing. Especially when she is sitting at a desk from eight in the morning to five in the afternoon, with nothing to do but answer the phones and busy herself with whatever becomes available at the time. And it's not like she's ignoring the phone when it rings. On the contrary--she immediately stops her awkward typing to pick up the receiver and politely recite the words she has heard over and over again when it used to be her on the other end of the line.



But then the phone does ring, and she attempts to do the job that she was hired to do--answer the phone and transfer the caller to the correct employee--and then fails to do so. She stumbles over the rehearsed sentence, and pushes the wrong buttons while trying to locate the right person. And while she knows this is normal, that all new receptionists go through this period of uncertainty and nervousness, she can't help but feel disappointed in herself. And yes, this is the first actual job she has ever had, but she expects more of herself, and knows that her employer does as well.



And it certainly does not help that her stomach is cramping and she definitely has to use the ladies' room. But she would rather hold it in than admit her full bladder to her new male co-workers. She's sure they would understand--it's human nature to have to relieve oneself--but she would feel too awkward letting any of them know. So she is sitting patiently, counting down the hours until she has her lunch break.



It's not like the job is a terrible one. It's a job that she has longed for for two years now, after her older sister gained the position and gained a couple thousands in green paper as well. It is quite simple at the moment, although there will be more work added on as she becomes more acquainted with the present job. And the people are amazingly nice and kind, although they did confuse her name with that of her sister's. And who could not love her supervisor, who calls every once and a while and offers to pick up the phone service so she can have a break and relax. And she is getting ten dollars an hour for it. This is nothing short of a dream job.




So why is she spending it typing on the Microsoft Word 2003 blank document?