She walked with the determined pace of someone who was running late. The interview was in five minutes, so she quickened her pace, her heels clacking on the sidewalk. Nice, she thought, as the glass door opened smoothly. The receptionist waved her on without getting her name, and she clacked her way to #205. Right on time. The door opened, and she turned expectantly. A smartly dressed man hovered there, his forehead creased in confusion.
“May I help you?”
“I am here for the interview.”
“What interview?”
She looked around, realizing this wasn’t the right building. She was most definitely late.
