Big Changes Part 2

I drove my car to the parking lot of the St. Louis Courier and parked it far away from all other vehicles. I sat there staring at my radio's clock that was informing me I was twenty minutes early. This was just like me, I was always early. I even had bosses tell me to stop coming to work so early, but today I thought would be special. I thought I would have the courage to show up early and introduce myself to everyone and make a great first impression.

What do you even say to make a good first impression? What defines a good first impression anyways?

I immediately thought of Robin Williams in Mrs. Doubtfire when he made a "great impression of a hotdog." Perhaps I could get away with that. If I do that impersonation, then at least I would make people laugh. That's a good sign usually. Or, I could talk about illogical things like why do fairytales never make sense. Why would Rapunzel and her prince be sent to exile? Why did he have to be blinded? Also, why did Walt Disney have to change the endings to most of the fairytales he made into movies? It only makes children believe the world is a happy and wonderful place, and that sure as hell isn't true. No, I shouldn't cuss on my first day, that's bad form.

I could talk about stocks and bonds...but I don't know anything about that subject, so that's out. As is sports. I hate sports. Why are there sports? Is there even a purpose? I don't get it. Sports are just an excuse to be aggressive for no real reason. I shouldn't talk about sports. What should I talk about?

There was a sharp rap on my window and I nearly jumped out of my seatbelt. I looked over and met the eyes of a man who couldn't be much older than me. He was gorgeous in every kind of way. His curly red hair framed his face and his bright blue eyes looked directly into my insignificant brown ones.Why did I have to have brown eyes?

 I bet he was a model. Was he actually writer?

He began to look at me as if I had a mental problem, so I rolled down my window which consequently made rust cascade down my car onto his leather loafers.

"I'm sorry, my car is..." but I couldn't think of the right word or any word.

"It's okay, mine is too. You must be Julia. I am David the photo-editor," that explained everything. Photo people are always perfect. "I promise we don't bite. There is coffee and muffins in the office, but if you want to stay out here and keep staring and the street you are more that welcome to," he said with a grin.

"Are there blueberry muffins?" I asked, my mind immediately jumped to the subject of food. Oh! I could talk about food! Everyone eats!

"If there weren't, I would have to turn in my letter of resignation," he declared, and all I could think was that there damn-well had better be blueberry muffins.

"Give me a minute to grab my things, and oh, you may want to move your feet," I warned before I rolled my window back up.

He took a few steps back and I exited my vehicle, my sanctuary, and moved towards a new beginning.

I took a full look at David and realized he was really perfect. He could actually be a model. His shirt was tight enough that I could see his beautifully chiseled muscles move and he walked inside the office.

Shaking my head of that nonsense, I moved my gaze towards the office building. It was all brick, two stories and appeared to have been built in the mid 70's. It wasn't much different from my old office, at least on the outside.

David opened the giant steel door and held it for me.

"Ladies first," he said as he waited for me to enter.

I followed the signs to the office and climbed the metallic stairs to the second floor. I opened the door and was greeted by signs saying, "Welcome Julia!" Everyone was swarmed around a giant oak table with coffee and at least a dozen blueberry muffins.

Yes, I thought and smiled.

"Wow, this is fantastic," I said completely shocked. "Thank you all so much!"

I walked up to the table and forgot about any form of small talk I had prepared. We all sat in office chairs and talked about our newspaper experiences. The chit chat lasted for an hour until the police scanner went off announcing a deathly accident on I-270.

"That's us," David said looking at me. "Grab your recorder and let's go boss."

Boss, that was a thought.

"Yep, let's go," I said with a smile and headed to cover my first real story.