Feral

By the time the heat settled in, I had already decided I wouldn’t stay.

The building rose too tall from the street. And it had more mirrors than walls that it looked like a giant water glass. Each angle caught the sun differently. The reflections were both mesmerizing and disorienting. 

Just a year old, so the structure had that fresh and clean look. The entrance was framed by sleek glass doors that slid open with a whoosh, welcoming visitors into an expansive lobby. The interior was as striking as the exterior. But inside, the air was worse.

It wasn’t just hot, it felt like we were right in the core of the earth. It turned my patience into something brittle. The waiting hall overflowed with people dressed formal. Some had unbuttoned their shirts cursing and fanning with their papers. Some kept checking their watch like that would somehow make time move faster.

I stood just inside the entrance for a moment.

This was a mistake, I thought, as I saw the kind of people waiting in the lobby.

I could already feel it. My instinct scratching the back of my mind.

It would be easy. Turn around, push through the glass doors, and step back into the ordinary world where disappointment was at least familiar. Where rejection letters came in emails that starts with “We regret to inform you”.

I tightened my fingers slightly around the strap of my bag. Do it.

For a second, just a second, I almost did.

But reality kicked in.

Three years of temporary contracts. Remote work that barely covers rent. Payments that arrived late if they arrived at all. The nights I spent staring at my ceiling calculating how long I could stretch what little I had left.

My jaw tightened.

“No,” I murmured under my breath.

The reception desk was barely visible behind the crowd. A digital screen flickered on the wall with numbers changing too quickly to follow. It was in alphabetic order. Great.

I found an empty chair eventually and I pounced at it. The metal was warm through the thin fabric of my clothes but I sat anyway.

Over twenty minutes passed. A bead of sweat slid down my spine and I thought, 

I should’ve walked out.

“First time here?” The voice came from my right.

I turned.

It was a man sitting beside me. He didn’t look like he was in the chaos. He looked calm. Not nervous and not fidgeting. And maybe not even sweating.

“Yes,” I said after a small pause. “That obvious?”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “You’re deciding if this place is worth it.”

“Am I that transparent?” I laughed 

“Only if one’s looking,” he adjusted his eyeglass.

There was something in the way he said it that made it sound toodeliberate to be casual.

I slightly shifted in my seat. “What about you? First time?”

He hesitated, “…Something like that.”

Before I could comment on the air, he leaned back and glancedtoward the far end of the hall where a door opened.

“They’ve been calling people out of order,” he said. “Did you notice?”

“No I didn’t. I thought it was strictly alphabetic.”

He turned to look at me fully for the first time.

His eyes were sharp behind his round focal. His dark hair was combed and gelled into place. And he had his shirt tied up despite the heat.

“What’s your name?” he smiled. 

I shook off the weight of my own thoughts and extended my hand, “Liyana.”

He took it, “Nolan”

The handshake was brief but it was firm enough to know he’d be getting the job.

“What made you apply?” I asked, partly out of politeness, partly to cut through the quiet tension that had begun to coil between us.

He exhaled a humorless sound. “I didn’t”

I frowned. “You didn’t apply?”

“Yeah.” He smiled “My uncle thought it would be a good fit, he knows someone here. What about you?”

I leaned back slightly, staring ahead at nothing in particular.

“Stability,” I said simply. “Or at least the illusion of it.”

“That’s honest.”

“I’m tired,” I added before I could stop myself. “Of not knowing what next month looks like.”

He nodded like more was understood than I had actually said.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. And before I could ask anything else, a voice cut through the room.

“Liyana Amsel to room B9”

I stood quickly, adjusting my bag. I feel more nervous than asking out Liam, a popular guy I liked back in high school.

“Good luck,” the guy waved.

“You too.” I smiled and walked towards the hall. 

The hallway beyond the waiting area was quieter.

The noise from the crowd faded unnaturally fast, as if it had been swallowed rather than left behind. The lighting shifted too. It got cooler and slightly dimmer.

I knocked twice on the door.

A man in a blue blazer smiled at me when I came into view. 

The interview room was minimal. A table between two chairsand a wide cabinet with stuffed binders behind his seat. 

He gestured towards the chair. I sat awkwardly looking around the room. 

He did too, facing the desktop in front.

There was a white table flag on the desk. It had a circle with a small center and lines stretching out evenly, connecting to identical points. And a ‘CIVIS SYSTEMS’ written underneath what I assumed was a logo.

“Liyana Amsel,” he said, like he was about to sentence me a decade in a jail. “Introduce yourself”

This is the part I dreaded the most. Introducing myself. Because it’s where I pretend I enjoy laboring for a corporate that would hate to involve in my survival.

But I smiled anyway. In the way he did when he first saw my desperate sickly face.

“My name is Liyana Amsel, and I graduated with a degree in computer science from the University of California, Berkley. During my time there, I developed a strong passion for data management and database systems which led me to focus on relational databases and data architecture. I thrive in collaborative environments and enjoy tackling complex challenges.”

The questions came quickly after that, but not in the way I expected. Not the usual lines I rehearsed about strengths and weaknesses or salaries. 

“Any recent immunizations? Past six months?”

“Uhh no… not recently. Why?” 

He didn’t answer my question he just started typing on the keyboard. 

“Do you take anything that alters your baseline?”

“I’m sorry sir?”

He looked back at me from the screen. “Recreational or otherwise, any substances?”

“Oh. None. Ever.” I replied, thankful there wasn’t a lie detector.  

“What do you see in this picture?” He held out a paper with a black doodle on it. 

I paused.

“Uhh what?”

“What do you see in this picture?” he repeated, waving the paper. 

I raised my eyebrow in surprise. “Um, a spilled drink?” It was more of a question than an answer.

“And this?” He asked holding out another paper.

“It’s the same picture, sir” I smiled sarcastically. 

A smile crossed his face. Maybe it was approval. 

He watched me intently and it felt less like evaluation and more like psychiatry.

“Why did you choose Civis systems?” came at last.

I almost gave the honest answer, I didn’t. My life chose it for me.

Instead, “I know you’re new so there isn’t much out there yet. But the way you’ve set things up already feels foundational. I like environments that are built with intention from the start.”

That was not a lie.

The interview ended as abruptly as it had begun.

He stood. I did too.

“We’ll be in touch,” he said, extending a hand.

There it was. The polite farewell.

But I shook his hand anyway.

“Thank you for your time.”

His grip tightened slightly holding my hand a little longer. 

“We’re very selective,” he added.

Ouch. “I figured”, I faked a smile.

I closed the door behind me. My heart sank as I thought how this was my last resort. 

When I stepped outside, the crisp of air hit my face and for a moment I paused, letting the world around me come into focus. I looked up at the sky felling lost. The future felt daunting. 

I stepped away from the building, not looking back immediately.

We’ll get in touch.

I adjusted my bag again, I can’t continue with this cycle of waiting, hoping and moving on.