Page 6 of Under Locke & Key
“We’ll look together. I need you to keep an open mind though and trust me. If I find something I think will be good for you, you have to at least apply. Okay?”
I roll my eyes but agree and we scroll through Indeed in silence. My heart’s not really in it though. I’m too pissed about potentially having to take a step back to get hired. Mid-level positions are so much harder to find since most places hire from within.
“Here,” Ángel says, sliding his phone across the table.
“Escape Room Developer?” The skepticism drips from my question. What could they possibly need a developer for? All I can picture is a dinky room with bad props and poorly thought out clues, with a deadline taunting you.
“Keep reading.”
“It’s not even in D.C.” An escape room in some town I’ve never even heard of before now. God, what a downgrade.
Ángel hits me with his no-nonsense stare, the same kind he gave Keith at the bar and the reminder is enough to make me return to the job posting. Anything would be better than slinking back to Lakin-Cole’s toxic “male”centric environment.
Immediately hiring candidates for now through December—possibility for a permanent position thereafter. Daily flat rate. Must be able to work on-site in Dulaney, MD.
Seeking a developer and collaborator to bring an edge and new take on a beloved activity. ‘Locke Box’ will be an escape room experience that’s more interactive and higher-tech for visitors while adding a fun addition to the charming town of Dulaney, MD. Its unveiling will be at the town’s December Fest and it is imperative that a candidate be able to function under a deadline. You’ll have the chance to put your creativity to use in addition to your tech skills.
This would be perfect for a candidate looking to branch into freelancing or something outside of the typical corporate landscape. If you are detail-oriented, good at problem-solving, and eager to put your mark on the escape room industry then this is your chance.
Come for the challenge, stay for the fun.
Collaborating instead of just doing what I’m told feels like a buoy in a storm—a hand reaching out to pull me from the corporate hellscape I inhabit every day on my rolling chair. But the risk of relocating and a daily rate instead of hourly gives me pause.
“Come for the challenge, stay for the fun” echoes through my mind and I can’t help but think that would make the perfect tagline. Not that I’m already thinking about how to make this work or anything.
“I can see the gears turning. Apply. Now. You won’t call it chickening out but I know you’ll logic your way out of having to do it. Apply and go from there. If you do it I’ll reup my Query Tracker.” Ángel dangles it in front of me, knowing I’ll do it for him after the countless saves at the bar, and the kind ear whenever I cry about work or the pressure of trying to live up to the image my parents have in their minds of who I am and what I should be capable of.
“That’s coercion and we both know it.”
“I’m not above that to get shit done. You play by the rules. I don’t. Maybe it’s time you make your own.”
Rule-follower. Teacher’s pet. Perfectionist. The qualities I’ve prided myself on have gotten me passed over and harassed. The game is rigged against me and those like me, maybe it’s time I try something where I can level the playing field.
“Pull up Query Tracker and your old query package. You’re doing a lot of big talk for someone with no skin in the game.”
Phones in hand, we take the leap. I apply and put every ounce of yearning for something better into it. I haven’t had to do this in years and I can only hope that my promise shines through. The alternative is too depressing to consider and I worry that if I don’t go elsewhere soon I’ll be permanently glued to that rolling chair—the scratchy fabric against the back of my knees embedded into my skin.
There has to be another way.
“I’m proud of you, kiddo.” Ángel says.
I scoff. “You’re barely older than I am, and you know I hate nicknames.”
“No.” He wags his finger at me, his face mock-serious and I can’t help but giggle at it. “No, you hate being called ‘Rach’, you don’t hate nicknames. I am geriatric. You need to get out there for my sake.”
“Okay, old man. If I’m going to actually go for this, there are way too many moving pieces. Don’t get your hopes up.”
His expression turns serious, “Or do. Do get your hopes up. Take a risk for once in your damn life. You can’t be this perfect person all the time. You’re so used to molding yourself to a situation to do what everyone else expects from you. Who are you outside of that? Away from trying to be the best for your parents and not pissing off the wrong people at work, and being too kind to drunk assholes at a bar?”
We stare at each other for a moment and intense gratitude wells within me at my friend. For knowing me and when to push.
“Thank you. You dragged me back onto the path. When I got to the bar tonight I was so angry and bleak. Discouraged. Thank you for keeping me sane.”
He shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “Thank you for singlehandedly funding my Paris trip with your terrible guesswork. I thought I was bad with men but you’ve got me beat.”
“See. I give you a compliment and thank you for tonight and you insult me in response.”
“You know I don’t do well with sappy. I’m allergic to feelings and you hide all of yours. That’s why we’re such good friends.”
