Picture Perfect Company Man

It was a new office, and today was the day we were having our photos taken for our IDs.

Lucy, the admin assistant, was in charge of taking the pictures. Many of the employees described her as charming, which means nothing to me. I am immune to charm. Such cheap mental tricks cannot pierce my armour. Charm only works on those with a fragile ego. My ego is set in stone, a Greek statue sculpted by wisdom and experience, immoveable, indestructible.

Lucy approached my desk.

"Buzz?" she asked, straight-faced and serious. She must have left her trademark charm at home today. Good. It’s wasted on me.

"Yes," I replied.

"You ready for your picture?"

What a stupid question. My hair was neatly combed, my beard freshly trimmed, my best shirt pressed and pristine. Of course I was ready. Any fool could see that.

"Certainly," I replied.

I followed her to an empty meeting room.

"Stand in front of this wall," she instructed, deadpan and cold.

I complied, straightening my back and offering just the right amount of a smile—friendly yet professional.

Lucy raised the camera and snapped a photo. She glanced at the screen and grimaced.

She turned the screen toward me, still grimacing. "Would you like me to take another?"

I swallowed. "Yes, please. Thank you, please."

We repeated this ritual several times. With each snap, Lucy grew more frustrated. On the fourteenth attempt, she didn’t bother showing me the picture. She simply grimaced again and declared, "This one will have to do."

"Is it possible your camera is broken?"

"Are you suggesting your image broke my camera?"

"Uh—"

"The same way a reflection can shatter a mirror?"

"Uh—"

"Interesting theory, but I don’t think so. I'll monitor its performance and let you know."

I clenched my teeth. "What I meant was—"

"You know, Buzz—” she showed me a warm smile, her eyes twinkling. "What you lack in appearance, you more than make up for with your interesting theories."

I blushed. "Why thank you."