pgyul:
if yulhee’s good at anything, it’s remembering names. this one is heejin, the company is… yeah, and the drink she had this morning was, regrettably, purmil brand “ghana” chocolate milk (though the brand has nothing to do with it). having the credentials for a management gig isn’t an impossible feat either, meanwhile, but who’s to say she was the desperate one during the interview? beats her. she recalls the opportunity starting as quick as it had come, “don’t be like this, this, and this” the one thing to really stick.
she’s hoping the building tour doesn’t last past noon. there’s still a matter of meeting the girls, imagining how quickly they’ll drop the formalities behind closed doors. it’d be a testament to how thirty is just a continuation… that’s it, that’s the sentiment. “self-introduction,” yulhee subconsciously repeats, knowingly pointing to herself and bowing her head against the glass door. “ah…”
the bump feels massive, her cheeks red as her palm instinctively soothes the pain away. how useless, heejin being curt through and through. “i’m yulhee.” she recalculates where, who she needs to look at. “let’s work well.” if he cares enough about what her business is around here, he’ll probably ask assuming heejin doesn’t scurry her off to the next room in the hall. but something tells her it’s dangerous to give ms. shin the benefit of doubt. must be that wince yul didn’t plan for.
first day nerves? she wouldn’t be the first one he’s seen (or experienced firsthand, for that matter). “yo,” he says, elbow propped against the desk table and palm propelling like a catapult. “yulhee...?” no last name? “hwang sangho.” he gives a little nod to his monitor, awash in a spectrum of colors from top to bottom.
“i do tracks. teach some of the kids here how to run around the track, putting it another way.” sangho smiles and leans back, the chair responding in kind with a tired squeak. especially knowing how oppressive heejin can get (given the opportunity), it’s an earnest little attempt to lighten the mood: “guess that makes me a kinda p.e. teacher?”
his elbows come to rest a little too comfortably, and they give way, slipping on the keyboard. with that, there’s a slight blare in his headphones, likely audible to the audience of two, and he ruffles and reddens. tit for tat, his turn. his brain sprints double-time through the fog to find a good distraction, “new manager for solidare, was it?”
