Participants:
| Scene Title | Is That a Resume? |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | In response to an ad in the paper, Alia comes looking for a potential job. |
| Date | August 2, 2009 |
The lobby of the Suresh Center (as yet lacking any signs, six-foot-tall letters, or other outward identification) is an open, very well-lit space; the exterior walls are more window than wall. There's a raised half-level on the right side of the irregularly-shaped room as one walks in, carpeted in pine-green, decked with oak furniture and small table lamps; a comfortable-looking space, with actual living plants at the top of the stairs and scattered here and there elsewise. Continuing to the left brings one to the receptionist's desk, the materials on its surface neatly organized, the dark-haired woman behind it in conversation with another, taller woman and a man whose hair is soon to be entirely iron-gray. Though the rest of the building lies somewhere beyond masking interior walls, there are sounds of more people — the background susurrus of conversations carrying down halls and around corners.
Alia is dressed, quite oddly for her, in one of her few business-eqsue suits. She pauses to double check the long blue-grey skirt is properly in place and that the bus ride hadn't messed up the bun she had put her hair into. After all, it wouldn't do to skateboard to a job interview, now would it? Instead of her usual backpack, she is carrying a briefcase-style laptop bag. She pulls out the rather non-descript advertisement, and a copy of her resume, and walks in the front door and up to the desk, where she sets the ad down.
The conversation trickles to a halt as Alia walks up to the desk, polite curiosity in the faces of the three who turn to regard her. "Can I help you, ma'— " The receptionist's query cuts off as the snippet of paper is placed on her desk; by now, it's a familiar sight for her. If not usually presented all on its own. She smiles again at Alia, more welcome and less politesse in the expression. "You're interested in applying? Did you— " Again the paused sentence, this time due to a slight gesture from the other woman, the one on Alia's side of the desk.
"I think I'll field this, Jessie, if you don't mind," the woman says, smiling warmly at the receptionist. She holds out a hand, the nails neatly manicured, painted with only a clear gloss. It suits her attire — ivory shirt with thin gold vertical stripes, black slacks, small silver earrings and the seeming absence of makeup that actually signifies very careful application thereof. "Carla Dove," she supplies, smiling amiably at Alia.
Alia shakes the offered hand. There's just gloss on her own fingernails, and she carries herself firmly. "Alia Chavez." She smiles. "A… pleasure to meet you?" The words take a bit of work, as if she has trouble finding the right ones to put together in her head to say what she means. But there's no mistaking the glimmer of intellegence in her eyes.
Carla smiles pleasantly. "Likewise, Ms. Chavez." For her, the words seem to come easily; then again, how many people has she interviewed of late? She nods to her two former conversation partners, gestures for Alia to precede her up the stairs into the small lounge area. "I can see how you heard about us, so I'll spare you that question. I presume that's a resume you have in hand?"
Alia nods and hands over the resume but remains standing as they reach the lounge. Nothing really all that incredible. Just an Associates of Applied Science in information and networking technology, some references for various IT work she's done freelance, including most recently the catalog system for the Ichihara Bookstore, her current job as part time computer tech at the Brooklyn Library. THe only other odd note is the fact that she didn't list her high school or anything before college. The entire form is simply laid out, with a scrollwork edge printed onto the paper.
Carla peruses the brief resume, nods slightly. "Perhaps you could tell me," she prompts, raising green eyes to Alia's face, "what role you think you could best fill in our organization?" Which is to say, go beyond the bare facts of the resume. Admittedly, the ad talked a lot about jobs to fill and not about what the company or apparently organization did; then again, such an open-ended question may not have any 'right' answer.
Alia smiles. "Business needs computing. Computers need people to set-up, run, fix, maintain… they get quirky." She's trying to hide how hard it is for her to come up with the words to say what she can offer. "I can do that. I can teach others to use that." She lets out a slight sigh then ponders.
"Also, nice to have someone who…" She pauses to find the right words mid-sentence. "'think beyond the box'?"
The older woman echoes her smile, nods briefly. "Indeed. You're correct on all counts." Carla tips her head to one side, regarding Alia critically. She purses her lips, then nods more slightly, seemingly to herself. "As it is an important subject these days, I must also ask: What is your opinion regarding Evolved?" she prompts, giving no indication what the 'right' answer is. And for this one, there must surely be a right and wrong.
Alia looks the older woman in the eye, then shrugs and answers. "Evolved, not Evolved, still people."
Carla tips her head the other way, and a slow smile spreads across her face. "I'm pleased to hear that," she replies. "We have a number of Evolved on our staff; in fact, we've made a point of hiring them when opportunity allows, though of course the first criterion is skill." The woman gestures towards the building around them. "I admit I'm far from truly tech-savvy, but I could show you some of what you would be expected to deal with, working here."
Alia nods, as she looks about, then nods again. "I would like that." The words are still simple, perfunctual fact. She bites her lower lip, and asks a question of her own. "Thoughts on Registration?" she asks the question with the capital r made obvious by tone. There's a nervous touch to the voice.
Carla glances over at Alia as she leads the way back out of the lounge, down past the receptionist into the building proper. "Registration," she echoes. "Personally, I think it's the beginnings of a necessary system, and I hope it will transform over time into that structure as people begin to understand more and fear less. We want to foster that understanding here, by helping people learn more about themselves and others. Particularly bridging the gap between Evolved and non-Evolved."
The older woman pauses for a breath, smiles slightly at her companion. "We have employees who are Registered. We have employees who are not. It is not our place to enforce Registration, though we ask for disclosure in-house, in case anything untoward happens."
Alia considers the words as she follows. The steps are more sure then her choice of words, that much is certain. She smiles, nods, and doesn't push the issue further just yet. After all, she's not hired yet thus isn't in-house. "Good goal." She says finally, smiling. She looks about, considering. "Needed one."
Carla nods to the younger woman, agreeing with her point. She leads the way through the halls, pointing at a couple of doors. "There are several conference rooms throughout the building; they all have projectors, media players, and sound systems installed. Some of the classrooms also have projectors; most do not. The auditoriums have larger-scale audio and video systems, including recorders. There are a few computer systems on the second floor, but the medical equipment wouldn't be part of your job." There's also a third floor.
Alia shrugs. She knows the ins and outs of data privacy and security. It is, after all, her job. "Wireless network for laptops in the classrooms?" she asks as she considers what kind of classes might be taught.
Carla looks over at Alia, and nods again. "That would be a very good idea." As they make their way towards one of the building wings featuring said classrooms, she also smiles. "Tell me how…"
Not exactly the most standard sort of interview, but by the time they've covered the facility in detail, Alia has secured herself a job.