“This is Broadway-Nassau Fulton Street, transfer here for the downtown A, C, 2, 3 and 5 trains as well as the J, M, and Z trains. Next stop, Cortlandt Street. Stand clear of the closing doors, please.” the smooth voice charmed from the PA. Allen was riding the 4 train, which he knew was Jim’s regular line. He also knew for a fact that his friend was driving this particular train. Since Allen was standing at the head of the platform when he was waiting to board the train, he was able to see Jim leaning out of the motorman’s car to punch in his stop at the station. Knowing that his boy was driving made him feel a little more at ease, which was helpful right about now. Allen and Jim had managed to reconcile things since last week’s graduation celebration. Deep down, Allen knew Jim’s remarks stemmed from his over-protectiveness. Jim had been through a lot of hurt and humiliation and he only wanted to shield Allen from a similar experience. But Allen believed he was a different person from his friend, and this was a different situation. Allen was going to make his destiny. Soon. Within the next two stops to be exact.
Allen was on his way to an interview with Hartland Financial Consulting, one of the top-consulting firms in the city. He had spent a whole week doing research on the company, and was excited to find that they had been encouraging newer, mid-sized businesses with a lot of growth potential to go public with stock offerings as a way to build capital. This was the type of thing that Allen liked. The giants in the industry had been there for so long they began to take their public for granted. Allen felt it was time to make some more giants. The only way this could be done would be to encourage the growth of smaller businesses and help them to find their niche in the market. He had seen this done with companies like Google and Yahoo. Allen felt that it was time for some African-Americans to step up and hit the scene with their businesses too, and he would be in the position to help make it happen.
Allen sat back in his seat and crossed his legs, trying not to wrinkle the pants of his charcoal gray suit. Then he took out his burgundy leather portfolio briefcase and opened it on his lap to review some of the notes and data he had gathered one last time. Allen tried to concentrate on what he was reading, but the anxiety he felt created a whirlwind of thoughts that he couldn’t keep out of his consciousness. Allen began to consider the tenuous nature of the interview process. “What if there’s something they don’t like about me?” he pondered. He closed his portfolio, leaned over and put his head in his hands and tried to relax to the rhythmic rocking of the subway car as it barreled down the tunnel, but it was no use. “I should get an offer”, he thought. After all, he was articulate, he had experience interning at some pretty well known firms, he had a sound knowledge of the company, good references, and not to mention he had just graduated from one of the top schools in the country. Everyone told him he had a lot to offer, so why should he doubt his capabilities now? Then he could hear Jim’s words echoing in the back of his mind. But like everyone else said: this was a different era. Allen felt that America was on the verge of becoming a post-racial society. So Allen brushed away the negative thoughts.
The train slowed down and pulled into the station with a screeching halt.
“This is Wall Street. Transfer here for the uptown trains across the platform. Remember to take all your belongings with you and watch your step on the way out. This is the downtown 4. Next stop Brooklyn Bridge, stand clear of the closing doors, please”, said the automated announcer.
This was Allen’s stop. He gathered his belongings and his confidence and exited the train and stepped out into the throng of people on the platform. As he scanned the crowd, he noticed most of them were clearly business people with their shiny leather brief cases, and copies of the Wall Street Journal tucked up under their arms. All of them striding confidently down the platform, up the stairs, and off to their respective jobs. These were the movers and shakers: the change makers. As Allen moved along with them, he was confident that he would soon be one of them.
When he had reached the street, he paused for a moment to glance at his watch. It was 9:45. His interview was at 10:00. The building was only a few blocks over, so Allen decided to take his time and look in some of the windows of the shops on the way. The tourists were out, which made it difficult to navigate the narrow sidewalks, however, Allen wasn’t bothered by it. He knew why the tourists were attracted to this area. No matter how many times Allen had been down this way, he was always amazed by the opulence of the surroundings. He was not just impressed by all of the big names he saw on the store windows, but by the design of the buildings, the cleanliness of the streets, and the order that seemed to coordinate everything. It was a far cry from his neighborhood back on St. Nicholas Ave. Not that his neighborhood was that bad. Allen would never dream of leaving his beloved Harlem. He wanted to be able to help transform his neighborhood into the busy thriving oasis that he was traversing at this moment. He knew it was possible. If only he possessed the money and the influence. If only someone would just give him a chance to get started. He hoped that this company would be magnanimous enough to take a chance on a 22 year-old dreamer from the inner city.
In the midst of his reverie, Allen almost missed the building. It was a huge glass structure that seemed like an obelisk, especially if you were looking at it from the Brooklyn Bridge. Allen walked in and showed his I.D to the security guard who stood in the lobby. Then he rushed over to one of the elevator banks and grabbed an elevator to the 35th floor. When the elevator doors opened, he could see two big mahogany doors with the words Hartland Financial Consulting inscribed on a conspicuous gold-colored plaque, with the company logo next to it. Beneath it was another one that indicated this was the human resources department. The consultant and analysts’ offices had to be on one of the other floors. As he opened the door, he could see the receptionist, a thin, young, white woman sitting behind a large circular oak paneled desk with a headset on. To the left of her there was a short leather couch, and a table with several business magazines spread over it. As Allen walked in, the receptionist looked up, her eyes locking onto his.
“Delivery or pick-up?” she inquired.
“Uh, neither”, answered Allen a little puzzled by her question. “I have an appointment for a 10:00 interview with Mr. Ravitch. I’m Allen Sharpe.”
“Oh…”, she replied, still a little doubtful. “I’ll let Mr. Ravitch know you’re here. Allen Sharpe, right?”
“Yes.”
She leaned forward and pressed one of the buttons on the console in front of her.
“Mr. Ravitch?”
“Ye-es”, a friendly voice chimed back.
“Allen Sharpe, your 10:00 is here.”
“Give me five before you send him in.”
“You got it.”
“He’ll see you in a few. Have a seat”, she said to Allen as she pointed to one of the chairs in the reception area.
“Thank you.”
“No problem”, she winked.
Allen simply smiled back and adjusted the collar of his shirt and loosened his tie just a bit. He hoped the five minutes would pass quickly before the flirty receptionist made him an offer he had to refuse.