Meeting the New Boss

This weekend I went to visit my brother in the beautiful city of Seattle. 

I had recently received an internship offer from a Seattle-based company, and I set up a time to meet some of the employees while I was in town.  Straight from the airport, I started toward the address that was given to me. One suitcase bouncing along the stones in one hand, and my backpack bouncing up and down, following the directions my phone gave me, I climbed up a ginormous hill to what was our determined meeting spot: 

Columbia Tower. 

I looked up in awe. My instructions said to go to the 75th floor. How many buildings have you been in that have 75 floors?   (I had to take 3 separate elevators.)

I hobbled into the front lobby, bedraggled from the flight, train, and hike. Wearing my trusty sneakers, jeans, a 5-year-old zip up hoodie, my makeup smudged and my hair disheveled from sleeping on the plane, I kept getting glances that said "what is that crazy homeless lady doing with such a nice suitcase?"

I decided to freshen up a little before my meeting. 

I went into a really small stall; suitcase and backpack followed. With some serious squirming to avoid an unusually space-consuming toilet, and with truly expert contortionist skills, I changed my outfit, shoes and all. I walked out of the stall and observed my now acceptable business casual outfit in the mirror: a light beige shirt and a simple blue skirt. 

I ran my fingers through my hair, touched up some mascara, and was about to leave when I noticed a mark on my shirt. 

An inch-long blue pen streak, right on my chest. 

Here I was, on the way to meeting a potential future employer on the 75th floor of the Columbia Tower, and there's a BLUE PEN MARK ON MY CHEST. 

I splashed some water on it, nothing happened so I added soap, which then added a large discolored circle surrounding that deplorable line of pen. 

I thought I'd make it better by making it worse: I tried to expand the discolored soap circle so it wasn't as noticeably concentrated.

As I leaned my torso awkwardly into the sink, and tried to scrub it out, a very friendly black woman stepped out of a stall and looked at me, appropriately questioning my stance. 

"I...uh...I got... there's pen on my shirt"

"Oh Honey! That's the worse" She said laughing as she walked out of the bathroom.

yes. it was the worst. 

It finally faded enough so that it wasn't so glaring an arrow to my bust. 

I made it up to the 75th floor eventually, the meeting went swimmingly well, and I got a glimpse of a pretty incredible view of the city.

While waiting for a friend thereafter at Starbucks, I bought a bright orange carrot juice.
I spilled it on my shirt.