The first year I worked at Advent, my manager sent me to a training class to understand compliance and the Code of Federal Regulations for drug manufacturing. I worked in the Quality Control Lab as an entry-level technician, and the training was part of orientation. At the time, basic orientation and compliance training were temporarily done offsite in Rochester so employees from New Jersey, Rochester, and Toronto could be trained at the same time.
I jumped at the chance to do the three-day training course and dragged Sarah, my college roommate, with me. We called it a minication. She took four days off work, and we drove her ten-year-old Toyota the five and a half hours to Rochester. The first night there, we each drank a bottle of wine in our hotel room, silly and drunk on our freedom. I used my corporate American Express for everything—the room, our meals, gas, and the wine. We had a completely free vacation from our one-bedroom box of an apartment. We got the most expensive room I felt comfortable getting, which included a large Jacuzzi tub.
The next day, class started at nine, but being so nervous and green out of college, I arrived at the conference center at eight thirty. The instructor was already there, setting up the room in a large tabled “U.” I hurried to a seat in the back corner and pulled a book from my bag, trying for invisibility. I had a pounding headache from the wine and a venti-sized Starbucks coffee to help me through it.
The instructor coughed, and I pretended not to hear him, avoiding eye contact. Tucked into my book, I heard people filter into the conference room and take seats around me. I realized quickly that almost everyone knew each other, as the greetings were filled with a jovial familiarity that included private jokes and nicknames. In addition, I seemed to be the youngest person in the room by no less than five years. Oh, good. This should be a fun-filled three days. I took out my notepad and pen, just for something to do, and then reddened when I realized that no one else seemed to be taking notes. Too self-conscious to put the pad away, I left it unopened in front of me.
“Hello, everyone. I’m Greg.”
Half the room tittered. “Hi, Greg!”
The introduction was solely for me and possibly one other person. When Greg announced we were going to introduce ourselves, my mind went blank. For a moment, I forgot everything about myself, save for my name. Why was I here? Where did I work? I listened to everyone ahead of me and formulated my answer, repeating it like a mantra. I’m Claire McGivens, and I work in Quality Control in Raritan, New Jersey.
When my turn came, I said, “Hi, I’m Claire McG—” I raised my hand to self-consciously tuck my hair behind my ear, and in the process, elbowed my obnoxiously tall cup—for heaven’s sake, why is it so damn tall?—spilling coffee all over the table in front of me. The lukewarm liquid traveled toward the lip of the table as I sat, paralyzed. Two classmates raced over with paper towels.
I mumbled, “Thank you,” propelled into action by the coffee edging across the table, threatening to spill over onto my colleague’s suit pants.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I repeated as people shifted their chairs back to let me clean. I realized then that the class was largely male, and I caught a few exchanged smirks and eyebrow raises. My face burning, I walked stiffly to throw away the soaked towels.
Greg touched my shoulder, his smile warm and inviting. “Thank you, Claire, for the ice-breaker.” He held my gaze with an expression that was reassuring and unsettling at the same time.
The class laughed, not unkindly. I smiled, attempting to show I was a good sport, but would have gladly welcomed the proverbial swallowing of the earth.
I went back to my seat, kept my head down, and pretended to take notes. When I felt bolder, I snuck glances at Greg. He was tall and broad-shouldered with slightly thinning sandy-blond hair, black square glasses, and a trimmed goatee. He exuded confidence and had an easy manner in front of the group. He caught my eye once and surreptitiously winked. The move was so quick, I wasn’t even certain the gesture was aimed at me. Still, my heartbeat quickened, and I ducked my head.
Greg was funny, compelling, and given the rather tedious subject, able to command attention in an impressive way. As the lecture continued, I watched him with interest, and when our eyes would meet, I felt the heat in my face. I learned a great deal more than I’d intended, and the day progressed quicker than I expected.