The door had a once-clear glass panel to allow people to look through both ways. Now it is grimy and caked with dirt, so I cannot see inside the office while I knock.
Nobody answers, and after 10 seconds I try the handle. It is not locked, and I am greeted by the sight of a receptionist (late 30s likely unmarried, or if married, still flirtatious) sitting at a desk that faces the entrance to the office. She is yakking on the telephone, cradling the handset between her neck and shoulder while she types daintily on the keyboard. IRC or ICQ (the "uh-oh" is pure genius) or yahoo, MSN or some communicator, I guess. I forgive her.
She waves me to the sofa, mouthing silently, "Wait a while", while gesturing to her (presumably) boss' office. The door is closed and the blinds drawn. I settle down and take in my surroundings through 11.6% Amsterdam-enhanced faculties. It is sparsely furnished and looks like no touch-up has been done since they moved in in the 80s. Yes, there is an 80s vibe about it. Leather cushions on solid wooden frames for sofas and heavy crystal glass ashtray kind of 80s. And mosaic tiles! (I miss them). A ceiling fan, blades weighed down by years of accumulated dirt, rotates lazily, quietly. The open window behind the receptionist offered me a splendid rear view of a row of shophouses and a narrow alley, but I refuse to oblige. If the boss' office is indeed behind that closed door, I wonder where I will sit if I get the job. The receptionist's desk and guest's sofa just about occupies the entire area.
I squint, trying to peep through the blinds of the (boss'?) office, to no avail. I start leafing through the magazines on the rack. Ahh... Reader's Digest. Classic 80s. I check the cover - August 1983 (walaueh). I flip straight to 'All in a Day's Work'.
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