He's a Fucking Consultant, That's Who He Is

�Don�t you know who this person is?� he said as he stuck his slightly chubby finger in my direction. I sat in a chair across the office quietly, with my head slightly lowered, and my hands folded in my lap. The three wild-eyed computer technicians looked me over and raised their eyebrows slightly as if to say, �You called us on the emergency help desk line for that guy? Has he even graduated high school, yet? He looks like a 12 year old in his father�s suit, how important could he be?�

He answered their vague expressions of disapproval, �He�s our actuarial consultant, he�s very fucking expensive, and trust me, his clock is spinning like a fucking top! Now get his fucking computer fixed right fucking now!!� He then turned back to me and said with his eyes widened just a bit and a slight upturn in the corner of his mouth, �fuck.�

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I have been begging for an office lately. I don�t want a raise, I don�t need a bigger bonus or more respect from my coworkers, I don�t even want a better coffee selection in the employee lounge, I just want an office. I don�t know why it�s so crucial to my mental health at this point in my career, but it�s getting serious. Unfortunately, I know it�s still years away from happening, and the thought tends to bring a little moistness to the corner of my eye every time I pass by the big empty office that I am lusting over, but just can�t have. However, this week, I managed to stumble into an office of my very own.

I was called into Satan's office on Tuesday and told that he had a special project for one of our highest profile clients, and he wanted me to do it. It involved going out to the client�s offices alone and working as an employee of theirs for a few days. I have never been to this client before, nor to any client for that matter, so the thought of going there alone made my forehead start to bead up just a little. But, seeing as how no one says �no� to Satan, I tried to sound confident as my voice shook and I said, �S-s-s-ure. No problem.�

I drove to the client�s office on Wednesday morning and found this mammoth building resting in the middle of a open field, surrounded by nothing but farmland and rolling hills � quite different from the industrial park complex I normally drive to everyday. Due to traffic, I arrived at the building with 30 seconds to spare, and rushed into a lobby that literally made my stomach rumble in fear. The ceiling rose three stories above me and suspended brilliant glass chandeliers. A single couch wrapped around a carpeted waiting area that could have seated 100 people, and a receptionist sat isolated in the middle of the room at a lonely desk. I approached her gingerly and stammered out a name that was written on a scrap of paper and handed to me by Satan, and then I walked back to the couch to sit and wait.

I tend to look much younger than my age, and when I wear a suit, it tends to accentuate my youth, rather than make me appear more dignified. As I sat in the middle of that huge couch, the feeling of youthful intimidation intensified as the absurdity of its length made me feel and appear smaller than life size in comparison.

When I was lead in to meet the client, he put me at ease with a quickly delivered �How the fuck are ya, I�m very busy this morning, but I�m all yours for the next 30 seconds, then you�re on your own, kid. You think you can handle that, because my bosses are busting my fucking balls lately and I don�t have all morning to be leading you by the hand. Can you handle that, kid? Jesus. How old are you, anyway? I�ve got fucking socks that are older than you.�

I wanted to walk back to the giant couch and pretend like I was a child again, sitting in the church pew that ran the entire width of my childhood church and bickering with my sisters under our breaths as we fought and pinched each other throughout the Latin mass. Then I was lead to my workstation, and unlike my cramped and uncomfortable cubicle at work, it had a door. It had furniture. It was my first office.

I wanted to turn and hug him, but feared he might take it the wrong way and call Satan asking, �What the fuck were you thinking sending me this kid who cries when I show him his desk and tries to wrap his arms around me every fucking chance he can get?�

For two days I sat in that big office with a huge smile on my face, and as people walked past I�d fight the urge to lift my tie and hide my expression from them. It seemed that everyone stopped at the door and looked in with the same question on their face, �Who�s that kid with the stupid grin sitting in the old vice president�s office?� Like the couch, I could tell my slight stature was being dwarfed further by the size of the office and I was worried that my youth would outweigh my tie and briefcase when trying to convince them that I was worth my $200 an hour billing rate.

Occasionally, the client would come in and we�d chat about how no one fucking listens to him when he tells them how things should be. They wouldn�t even need me there bailing them out on this project if they�d fucking listened to him in the first place. I tried to be encouraging, but felt mostly taken aback by his candor. He�d tell me stories about my coworkers and how they get so nervous around him when all he�s trying to do is speak his fucking mind. We laughed as I tried to explain, �They�re fucking actuaries, Bob. What�d you expect?�

I left after a day and a half, having made short work of the three-day project, still unsure of how I was being perceived as a representative of my company. I drove back to the industrial park and reported to Satan, who met me with a gigantic grin on his face. �They loved you,� he said. �Congratulations, they asked if they could have you full time for the next month.� I looked down at my shoes, slightly embarrassed, but proud of myself nonetheless, and the thought of working in my office every day made my face stretch into a smile. Satan continued, �Of course, I told them not to be ridiculous, we can�t have you out there for an entire month! I need you here� I don�t know what they were thinking.�

My heart sank as it does so many times when I leave his office, and I walked back to my cubicle and sat amongst the cheap, fabric covered walls, but my thoughts returned to one thing, �they loved me.�