Amelia ran from her car into the building in the pouring rain, taking shelter under a month-old Wall Street Journal that she had found in the back seat. The pages began deteriorating into a papier-mâché mush in her fingers, contrary to what she had seen in those 1940s movies with ladies in perfectly curled hair daintily running under newspapers during downpours. She tossed the newspaper into the gutter, briefly feeling guilty about littering. She stood under the archway of the building’s facade and dialed the receptionist to be buzzed in. It occurred to her that she was recreating the opening scene of Suspiria. Amelia really liked watching old movies.
“Hello? Can I help you?” “This is Amelia Richardson. I’m here to see Mr. Silverman for the group interview.” “Third floor. Elevator’s to your left.” The intercom buzzed.
Amelia hastily swung the door open with a click. She tripped on the threshold and her stiletto snapped under her heel. She limped over to the elevator and checked her watch. 10:09. Fuck. I’m late. My first interview in three months, and I’m late. Of course.
The elevator door opened. A group of strangers rushed out past her. The last woman out looked her up and down judgmentally with a faint hint of pity. Amelia blushed. With wet hair, running mascara, a wrinkled, ill-fitting business suit, and a broken pump, she was almost certainly a pathetic sight to see. She bowed her head down and walked into the emptied out elevator.
The 3rd floor button light was out, but it reached its destination anyway. She walked out of the doors and spotted an office marked “Prism Industries, Inc.” The receptionist waved her into the only door inside. Amelia sat down quietly among a group of a half dozen young men that looked to be about half her age. The presenter stopped mid-sentence.
“Nice of you to join us. Ms. Richardson, I presume?” Amelia nodded. The presenter continued with his PowerPoint presentation.
“How would you like to be your own boss?” The man flipped through slides of inspirational quotes and stock photos of smiling entrepreneurs in front of mansions, fanning out wads of cash. As time went on, Amelia’s stomach began to sink.
“You could get started today. If you make the commitment to invest in our starter pack for only $39.99...”
Amelia couldn’t take it anymore. She stood up and burst out. “What. The. Fuck. Seriously?! You called us all back for interviews so you could recruit us into your pyramid scheme? I spent the last of this month’s unemployment benefits buying gas to drive two hours to get here and now you’re trying to steal our money? Fuck you. Fuck all of you.”
The man sighed. “Pyramid scheme? This is a billion dollar multi-level marketing company. I’m sorry you’re stuck on welfare because you don’t have the will to succeed.”
“There’s literally a pyramid on the slide!” She gestured toward the intricate chart of clip art male and female figures with arrows pointing down. “It’s not a pyramid. It’s a reverse funnel.” Tears welled in Amelia’s eyes. A security guard walked in.
Mr. Silverman looked back at her. “Time to go now, Ms. Richardson. Thanks for stopping by.”
