make do. I guess I’ll be seeing you for
our big falling out in about a month.
Fingers crossed it’ll be different this
time.
XO,
2017 Shane
Tuesday morning,
I stride into
Packed! For Travel!
with
determination etched into every fiber of my being.
I eagerly step up to the front desk. “Morning, Tracey! I
was wondering if you could give me a list of everyone’s work
emails, so I have them on file for any assistance I can offer?”
She studies me warily for a moment. “Er … okay. I’ll
email it to you,” she answers slowly. I thank her, set my things
down, and head to the kitchen tea station.
The first cup I fix is for Wendy. I carefully walk it to her
office and knock on the doorframe. She’s wearing a pretty,
pink, off-the-shoulder sweater with a white skirt. “Yes, come
in!” she greets.
I step forward. “Hi, Wendy! Good morning! I made you a
cup of tea.” I slowly set the cup and saucer down on her desk.
“Oh my goodness, thank you.” She smiles.
“I know I did this on Thursday, but I wanted to reintroduce
myself again. I think I started
off on the wrong foot last
week … I’m Shane. I’m so excited to be here and learn, and if
there’s anything you can use my assistance with, please ask
me. If there are ever any opportunities to shadow you or watch
you
in action, I’d love to do so. I know I already mentioned
this in our interview a couple weeks ago,
but I have a blog
myself and I’ve turned it into a travel blog. I just love what
you guys do here. I’ll send over an email with this info, so it
resonates, and you have my email if you need it.”
Her smile broadens. “Thank you, Shane. I’ll keep all of
that in mind.”
I nod back, grinning. “I’ll be over there if you need me.” I
gesture to my table.
I head back to the kitchen and make another cup: this one
for Declan. I bring it over to the editing bay.
“Hi, Declan! I’ve made you a cup of tea. I just wanted to
introduce myself. I’m Shane…”
Then Donna. I go on like that, making my rounds, talking
to all of them: Declan, Donna,
the middle-aged man named
George I’ve never interacted with, Janet, and even Jamie, the
posh, bleach-blond woman that I avoided the first time
because she scared me. I end by taking a cup of tea to Tracey
and reiterating my sentiments.
“Thanks … How did you know about our tea station?”
Tracey asks.
“Um, I saw the chart while I was putting the bagels out on
Thursday,” I tell her.
Now everyone knows my name,
my intentions, and that
my blog exists. I send them all separate emails with this
information. And in each one I sign off with:
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