“We’re here because the two of you seem unable to work together.”
A deafening silence fell over the plain and windowless meeting room. Barely large enough for three people, these small “chat chambers” were the new hotness of the startup world. White walls partially covered by drab gray bulletin boards, a small U-shaped table in the center of the room, and a small TV screen for Zoom calls were standard fare for the cramped, confined cubicles that somehow replaced real conference rooms.
Lacking character, distinction, windows, or breathing room, they were already uncomfortable enough without a meeting from HR.
On one side of the U sat Liming, a short and slender Chinese woman well begun on her journey into middle age. Her tight blue jeans and slim black top adhered tightly to her body, presenting her B-cup breasts and thin ass to a world that might appreciate them more if she were 20 years younger.
Sitting opposite was 24-year-old Lamar, a muscular African-American man who had been recently brought onboard to inject some “new blood” into an aging department of forty-somethings. While his loose jeans concealed the tonality of his legs, his short-sleeved navy-blue T-shirt exposed biceps seemingly thicker than Liming’s head. He dwarfed Liming in stature if not in seniority.