Down with Fernando

I couldn't find the building anywhere. My directions from the temp agency said 59th and 5th Avenue, but on the north side of the 59th street block is either a row of hotels or Central Park. Below is either the 40 story General Motors Building or the Plaza Hotel. I was out of my league. I was also late, and so I just went back and forth, decided to give the GM building a second chance, and sure enough, the financial firm I was working for was in the middle of this bohemoth.

I was filling in for Fernando, a mythical figure, who people mentioned on the side as disappearing during the week for no apparent reason. Some said something about family problems, but mostly, it was just that Fernando was not there. I was there indefinitely, until this man came back, until someone told me otherwise. What was I doing? It didn't matter.

The office, indeed, was on the halfway up on the GM building and I'd never seen anything like it. The whole office was open to the world. No one had an office, just a desk with a computer. So everyone had a glimpse out the windows, which stretched the entire length of the building. And there was Central Park. I've seen movies with people working in offices that looked out on the Park, but nothing is quite like seeing it out your work place, every single second of the day.

So I had a view of one of the more impressive sights in the world. Next came the perks. There was free breakfast. Good. I enjoy bagels with every concievable kind of spread. Fresh fruit is nice. Free coffee. Free lunch is excellent. Indian, made by the in-house chef. I took my plate of Tikka Malsala and planted it on my desk over looking the sight of sights and thought long and hard about how wonderful my life was.

And what was my job? The mail guy.

This I could do. After three months at a talent agency, I was well adept at passing out mail, saying hello to everyone, organizing things, looking online during the downtown, and just generally looking agreeable all the time. I'm the mail guy people dream about in nice offices. It's not my dream job, but damn if I'm not good at it.

Why do I like it so much? I don't know. It's easy. I deal with people all day who are happy to get their mail. I'm not filing papers, writing reports about uninteresting things. I take a piece of mail, I put a stamp on it. Done. I have completed something. When I leave, I have something to say for the day, and nothing to worry about at home. For a 23 year old temping to make money so he can write on the side, that's okay. I have loads of free time where I can write online, search for things.

So I'm working as a mail guy in the most beautiful office overlooking the most beautiful sceneary in the world. I only had one thought on my mind. Down with Fernando. I called my temp agency and begged them to do anything they could to get me hired. I met with the HR lady. I would take this job. I would take this job off your hands. Fernando obviously doesn't care. He just left for no apparent reason. i'll show up for work every day and eat the free breakfast, lunch and snack. I'll drink your free drinks. I'll look at Central Park everyday. And I'll be better than him.

On my third day, things were going well. I was ordering supplies, making jokes with the supplier, acting like I knew what was going on. I made excel sheets of everyone's name. I was going to learn.

Then he came. My boss said quickly that he, Fernando, was back, and that I could stay for the rest of the day. I decided then, that he needed an assistant, that I needed to do whatever I could to stay.

Then I saw him. He was old and his clothes hung shabbly on his slender body. Scotch tape held his glasses together. He didn't speak much English. I tried in vain to ask him for help, to explain that he need an assistant, but it didn't seem to register. He told me to move from his desk. I did.