#2 Demaq Against The World
2: Dot Creative Agency
2: Dot Creative Agency
The waiting area at Dot Creative Agency was a narrow hallway painted entirely white and looking even whiter by the exposed sunlight that shone in through large, thigh high windows. A single, filled-in circle with a diameter of about four fingers was drawn in the middle of the white wall on the right side from the door. Everything about the waiting area was dull and monochromatic. The space made Demaq want to shrink into the black faux leather couch she sat on. There was nothing to look at except this singular, ill-executed concept of a ‘dot’ three strides from her face. Her hands itched towards her phone but she resisted, not wanting her first impression to be sabotaged by TikTok.
She nervously rubbed her hands together and obliged the ‘dot’ the attention it demanded. It was better than thinking about her interview. The more she stared at it, the mole-like speck on the wall seemed to vibrate more and more, until Demaq was sure it was bouncing from one side of her periphery to the other.
“Demaq Muluken?” a masculine voice asked softly from the entrance. A young man in a suit vest and dark jeans checked the paper in his hand again as if to see if he was correct. Deciding he was, he took one long stride towards Demaq and held out a hand, “Good morning. Are you… here to return products?”
Demaq gave the man’s hand a single shake and attempted to smile away her confusion, “I’m here for the job interview.” They let go of hands.
“Right.” The man bit his tongue in his mouth as if holding back something to say. “Right. Interview. Come on,” he led Demaq through a narrow door into the wider office space.
In all the visualization attempts she had made of her job interview, she never considered the office space would look so extraordinary. The inside wasn’t boring like the waiting area. Where there weren't large windows adorned with real vines and sticky notes, the walls were painted bright, bold shades of yellow and purple. All the swivel chairs carrying about 20 people had orange cushions and computers were set up on matte black solid wood tables.
I could work here, Demaq thought to herself, her eyes darting across the postmodern furbishing.
The young man escorting Demaq led her to a corner office with glass walls. He knocked twice and let her in.
A balding man sat inside the small glass office and he had a plaque on his desk that read, GENERAL MANAGER. He looked curiously at Demaq who stood wringing her fingers in the center of the room, unsure whether to sit or stand. He squinted his eyes at her as if searching for her name.
“Demaq,” she pointed to herself.
“Yes, sit,” he rolled his chair away from his computer to give her his full attention. She took one of two guest chairs and tried to pull up her shoulders.
“Demaq is an interesting name,” the balding man said, “Memorable.”
“My father is weird like that. He named my sister Melkam. But people can’t decide if it means nice or pretty,” she laughed nervously. The man gave her a smile. A soft congratulatory alarm rang in the back of her head but she tried to keep herself from looking too pleased.
“I’m Alula. CEO. Now tell me about you, Demaq.” He clicked the q in his throat as if feeling her name around in his mouth.
“I was born and raised here in Addis. I have some experience with visual art and graphic design. I won the Big Vibes award for visual artists in my freshman year. I studied engineering.” Her voice fizzled out as she ran out of things to say.
Alula rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “And why are you here?”
Demaq wrung her fingers together even harder on her lap as she considered her next words. She could be honest and tell him she needed the money. That would be very true. But she needed him to think of her as someone who knew what they were doing. She needed him to also understand her intention and hunger for something worthwhile. So she cleared her throat and began. “I’ve always felt like I was meant to be an artist. I don’t think it mattered what kind. My father made sure I was always busy learning something in the summers between school years. I went to music school and art school. He encouraged me to apply for creative writing contests and I even learned how to use a sewing machine one summer.”
She let go of her hands. “But once I became grown, I started to realise that all that learning was meaningless if I couldn’t use it to make something for people other than myself. When I came across the job on LinkedIn, I went through your website and I checked out your mission and vision. You put a lot of intention behind your work. More than income revenue, Dot focuses on creating a meaningful rapport between clients and their customers. And I figured, what better place to grow into an artist?”
Alula watched her silently for a beat, fighting a smile as he rubbed his stubbly chin.
“Do people shorten your name? For endearment? Do they call you Dee? Demé?”
“Just Demaq. No endearment.”
“How old are you?”
Demaq exhaled slowly. “I’m 24?”
“That’s a good age,” he nodded thoughtfully. “I remember being 24. Unlike you, I believed my bullshit.”
Demaq averted her eyes.
“Don’t worry,” Alula sat up and leaned on the table in front of him. He interlaced his fingers and said, “I’ll give you another go at that question. Why do you wanna work here?”
Demaq looked down at her hands. Then back up at Alula. He had big eyebrows for someone going bald. But he looked like he could take it. Something about his relaxed, knowing smile emboldened her. “I’m worried about my future. I don’t actually know anything about being a creative director,” she said quietly. “I only have the short courses I took in the summers and half an engineering degree because I dropped out of university a couple of years back. COVID stole a year from me, then the war. Now here I am! I thought this job would be a good compromise, an in-between artist and useful citizen. Honestly, I am just trying to survive another month.”
“At least you’re not pretentious,” Alula said with a chuckle.
“But I promise I’ll do everything I can to learn on the job. I’m a quick learner and I have a lot of great ideas.”
Alula pointed out of the glass door to the vest guy who had shown Demaq inside. “Eyob over there is our chief creative director. He was going to leave a couple of weeks ago, which is why we posted the job Ad. But he has since decided to stay. He probably didn’t get around to cancelling the interviews he’d scheduled. He was supposed to call you.”
Demaq’s heart sank. This couldn’t be happening. She vaguely remembered an unknown number she had ignored a few days ago. She wasn’t expecting a phone call. Who even calls people anymore? She’d sent her application and scheduled an interview via email.
“I’ll tell you what,” Alula sat back in his chair. “Perhaps he needs an associate. Would you like to work as a marketing associate instead?”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’ll do a little clerical work here and there and you’ll learn some things on the job. You’ll be on probation for a couple of months and the pay is exactly half the initial offer. Do you think you’re up for it?”
Demaq hesitated.
“You’re the only one I’m interviewing for this and I’m offering it to you so if you pass, there won’t be another chance.”
“I am up for it,” Demaq said quickly.
“Perfect,” smiled Alula. “You can work from the conference table. HR will reach out to you this afternoon. Bring your laptop tomorrow.”
Demaq couldn’t believe it. “Oh my God. Thank you.” She got up to shake Alula’s hand with both of her own.
“Welcome to Dot Creative Agency, Demaq.”
Demaq Against the World: Book 1 will continue in the next chapter.
Chapter 3: Riot
Yay! She got A job. 😄