Radiate happiness. Caught off guard, I scrabble around to find a mask and become the affable person they want. It’s possible I have produced a smile. 

Be confident. Despite my head being a mess, people only see the smile and feel the handshake. I remove my earphones with one hand while the other reaches for hers, but this causes the podcast to skip, and I worry about whether my grip suggests someone who has their act together. 

All morning, I’ve been exposed to an overload of details yet taken nothing in. Faces, signs, lights, thousands of stories shining out in the haze of an unknown world. I am where I am with no awareness of connecting points. I need time to declutter and process everything, but I have none.

‘Nice to meet you, too,’ I respond. The familiar social script guides my words as I strive to secure that crucial first impression. Making a conscious effort to look at her as our hands unclasp, my attention is momentarily drawn away by a passing car. I attempt to reestablish eye contact, but I don’t learn her initial impression of me as she turns to find what I considered more important than herself. I resolve to do better when I repeat this process throughout the day. 

I have to reply with an ‘Hmm?’ to the question that I just missed while struggling to put my earphones into my bag. I wore them solely for the soothing sounds of familiar voices, rather than any content within the podcasts that I knew I would not absorb. 

‘You’re here early, aren’t you?’ she says. 

‘I wanted to make a good first impression,’ I say, certain that there’s still sweat on my brow despite the November air, and I’ve just about managed to catch my breath. 

I’ve somehow managed to get to Duck Lane, Soho. Finding it was challenging; even with a map app, I walked past a couple of times before noticing its existence. Duck Lane is a residential alleyway, and there’s a jumble of scooters and motorbikes at the bottom, but this is where my new workplace is. Although I’m supposed to be here an hour from now, I always prefer arriving early for fear of being late. I also wanted to have time to settle down and adjust myself before stepping through the doors. Now that little necessity is being taken away from me. 

‘It’s the middle of me lunch. Anyway, I’m Miss Tuko. You’re shadowing me today.’ 

I reach my hand out to shake Miss Tuko’s hand before pulling it away, remembering that we’ve already done this. I manage to catch my toppling suitcase just in time. I slap the grin back on, worried that it looks fake with both cheeks pulling my mouth back and raised eyebrows to open up my eyes, but it seems to work. I use the tension in my fight-or-flight stance to look like I’m ready to get started. 

‘Nice to meet you, again. Miss …’

‘Mitsuko.’ 

I repeat her name, and it gets approved. I don’t know whether to be embarrassed about getting her name wrong or to assume that she’s continually correcting people. Seeking her thoughts about me gives me an opportunity to take in the details of her face.

‘Come on, let’s get you inside,’ she says. Her Scouse accent raises a whole range of questions, but now is probably not the time to delve into her family history. 

I’m taken to a grimy, graffitied fire exit that her ID card unlocks. It’s here that the panic sets in because she’s given her name, but I haven’t reciprocated. I’ve missed my chance, and it will be awkward if I try to bring it up now. But she knew to meet me, right? If you’re expecting someone, you know their name, right? 

‘How did you know I was here?’ I ask as a roundabout way of addressing my concern. 

She points to the multiple cameras around the place. Not ready to be seen yet, I reflexively attempt to move myself out of their sight. Unable, I stand as comfortably as I can, having become extremely self-conscious, and I wait for her to open the door. The cameras have seen too much of the real me. 

‘Not a lot of people walk gormlessly around here with a suitcase,’ she says. 

‘I couldn’t find the way in. Wasn’t even sure I was in the right place.’

I struggle with my luggage down a disturbingly dark staircase, which she navigates with practised ease. Soon, we are into a brightly lit reception area. I contemplate shading my eyes, but no one else here is doing so, and I don’t want to stand out. My hands instinctively move into my jacket pockets, and I have to pull them out to maintain a professional appearance among my new peers. Uncertain of what to do with the hands that I’ve owned for my entire life, I find myself fondling the suitcase handle.

‘Here’s the new guy,’ Mitsuko tells the person behind the desk. ‘Can I get back to my lunch now?’ 

‘Are you the work-experience guy?’ 

I nod. 

‘Well, there are first-day procedures. Here’s a list, Mitsuko. Make sure he gets them done.’ 

‘Can’t I have my lunch? Not my fault Mr Top-of-the-Pile’s so keen.’

I do a silent whoop of victory for being top-of-the-pile worthy. It’s much better than the typical ‘you don’t look as if you care about this job’ I’ve heard from several employers despite me working my butt off for them. 

Now I worry that someone’s heard me think a rude word. 

Mitsuko takes me away. 

As we walk, she talks, and I’m grateful that I don’t have to respond to anything she says because I can barely hear her over everything going on around us. A blur of overheard conversations, bright lights, and Mitsuko’s one-sided chatter fills the air. Echolalia makes me repeat her name in my head to combat the influx of new information. The expectation to fit in with all these new people feels unattainable. The maze of passageways we traverse triggers memories of navigating through the horror of any social situation. I already know I am not one of them. Each corridor is lined with mirrors I can’t avoid; my reflection surprises me at every new corner, stalking alongside me. I’m overdressed in my suit, surrounded by people in lazy business-casual attire. Pulling my coat tighter around me, I remind myself that I’ve left my luggage at the reception desk, but it doesn’t alleviate the panic of not knowing where it is. To prevent myself from biting my fingernail, I change the motion to a nose scratch, then an ear rub. Our constant movement, guided by Mitsuko, makes me appear active without much effort. With all control taken away from me for the time being, I prepare for the next person I will meet by running different greetings through my head. ‘Yes,’ I reply at one point. ‘Okay, well, that’s good, I suppose,’ is the response I get. Was that the right answer? Did I convey the wrong enthusiasm? What’s been revealed? There’s no privacy here, nowhere to escape when the pressures increase. And then there are the mirrors, revealing all this. 

I’m brought out of my reverie when asked what attracted me to the FIB. Mitsuko has gone, replaced by someone new who offers me a seat while posing interview questions. The entire contents of my brain are upturned in the scramble to find the answer, and the best I can manage is just a ‘Hmm?’ – which is fast becoming today’s catchphrase.

First impressions matter.