Bumbling Series Two

A few weeks ago, I was walking to a meeting with a woman to get some career advice. She works at a government agency (I shall not reveal which, so quit prying), which means her building has mega-heavy-duty security. I walked in confidently, took off my coat, and emptied my pockets into the little plastic bowls. I noticed however, that the conveyor belt wasn’t moving and there weren’t any security guards telling me to wait and take off my belt (that might sound weird out of context). I picked up my coat and purse and walked through the metal detectors, and thought it strange when they didn’t go off. Since I’m an honest person, I approached the security woman, who was busy picking at her nails, and informed her of my meeting with this woman.

The security lady replied “With WHO?” and I repeated her name, smug that I was finally arriving to a meeting on time, plus I had magically cheated the tedious security process. She asked, “What kind of ID do you have?” I answered lamely, “My licence,” and almost added a “duh,” but refrained. Apparently I had walked through the employee entrance. As she began explaining how to get to the main entrance I realized I wasn’t even in the right building. I fake-smiled in an attempt to cover my sudden panic, thanked her, and sped off, pretending to head towards the main entrance. If you ever see someone walking down the street, smacking themselves on the forehead with the palm of their hand, that’s me. I was (only) ten minutes late to the meeting.