By Kayla Tronvold

One cup flies through the air. The other merely jolts in her hand and spews its contents onto his navy suit.

“Dammit! What is wrong with you?” he shouts.

“Excuse you. What is wrong with me? You’re the one who turned around and collided into me. I didn’t even move!” she accuses.

If Josiah had chosen the big coffee chain just up the block, or if Miranda had supported the local café down the street, they could have avoided this accidental collision.

“Damn women!” Josiah yells, his face turning red to match his fiery hair. His sleek, silver glasses nearly fog over with his rage. “You all never know what you’re doing. You’re always in the way! Shouldn’t you be at home taking care of the children or something? Let the men do the work, you incompetent, clumsy bitch!”

Miranda’s jaw drops; her cup almost does too. With one fist clenched, she considers decking the man right then and there. Instead, she refrains, purses her red lips, brushes a drop of coffee off her gray pencil skirt, and declares, “You’re not even close, buddy. Welcome to 2015. I think you’ll find that most people are enlightened, and that this is a better era than the 1950s.” She smirks at him trying to make him understand that Miss Miranda Polanski is not easily intimidated.

Josiah’s body shakes surging with rage. He takes one step forward crushing his empty cup beneath his right foot. He doesn’t notice the coffee shop has become silent except for the sound of steaming milk behind the counter. Everyone is staring at the showdown in front of the condiment bar. No one cares about being late to work anymore.

Miranda stands her ground until she realizes he isn’t going to speak. She steps away, ready to move on with her day.

He scoffs, chest puffing up. “So that’s it, huh? No apology? Your husband should do a better job of training you how to interact with important men!”

She tries to keep walking. A single phrase replays in her mind. “Just let it go.” But she can’t. She’s had enough of privileged white men and their superiority complexes.

Miranda does an abrupt about-face. Staring straight at the man she still doesn’t know, she says, “I don’t need a man to train me how to interact with imbeciles.  However, I do believe our society needs someone to train privileged white men on how to contribute to society and not blame others for their evident mistakes. Sir, I think you should join us in today’s decade where women are key players in the driving forces of our society. And it’s not just in the kitchen. Have a good day. I hope you don’t get fired over your lack of appropriate work attire.” Her demeanor remains serious throughout her short speech.

As she walks away toward the door, a middle-aged man mutters, “Crazy feminists,” under his breath.

However, Miranda ignores him. She is used to hearing that phrase. There is no denying her identity as a feminist. She wholeheartedly believes women should have equal rights as men. She isn’t ashamed. She knows she is right, and as Miranda walks the remaining six blocks to work, she is glad she will never have to see that pig-headed, coffee spiller ever again.

Stepping out of the elevator onto the eighth floor, Miranda walks past the cubicles of her employees to her corner office.

Her assistant Todd greets her, “Good morning, Miss Polanski. I put the resumés for today’s candidates on your desk. Our first interview is at 9:30.”

“Thank you, Todd,” Miranda replies. Her tone implies that it’s just another day – that nothing happened as she grabbed her usual triple nonfat latte on the way to work. For Miranda, it is just another day. She expects to have someone question her intelligence to her face each day; it just usually happens between 1:00 and 3:00 as she meets with her marketing team or at evening events. 8:40 AM is a record for her, but she doesn’t dwell on it.

Walking into her office, Miranda sees the files for the three interviewees she has today. Michael, the Assistant Director of Marketing, is leaving the company in one week to transition into his new role as a stay-at-home father, and Miranda and Michael have yet to find an adequate replacement.

She flips open the first folder. J. Bartels: Undergraduate and graduate degrees from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln; eight years at the same firm in Lincoln, Nebraska; reason for leaving is his move to Chicago.

His resumé is impressive. J. Bartels stayed busy in college and has prioritized his career since then. The loyalty he had for his former employer is a high selling point. “This could be our guy,” Miranda says to her desk plant and empty office.

Closing Bartels’s file, she opens the next. Annie Rasmussen: Undergraduate degree from the University of Illinois; year-long fellowship at a competitor’s firm; her grades are above average, but her experience is lacking. Miranda thinks, “This must be her ‘apply for everything’ season,” and slides the file off to the side.

The last candidate is Taylor Andrews. He is more experienced than Annie but has changed jobs ever 6 to 9 months. Before Miranda finishes glancing through his resumé for the fifth time that week, there’s a knock at her door.

She looks up, and Michael says, “Ready to find Michael 2.0?”

His smirk makes her laugh. “I could use the upgrade,” she responds.

“Our first candidate is here. Should we meet him in the conference room down the hall?” Michael asks.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” Miranda replies.

Michael heads out, and Miranda closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, sneaks a short swig of her remaining latte, and follows him down the hall.

Before she reaches the door, she hears a familiar voice say, “I apologize for my appearance. Some hurried, oblivious woman knocked my coffee out of my hand this morning and I didn’t have time to change. Now I know why my mother used to always tell me to pack an extra suit in my briefcase!”

As he starts to laugh, Miranda walks through the door. Sitting opposite her is the man in the navy suit from the coffee shop. “So this is J. Bartels?” she thinks.

Josiah looks up, and his laughter ceases immediately. The color fades from his face, and he asks, “Is your assistant joining us today, Mr. Owens?”

Michael stares at Josiah and glances over to Miranda before replying with evident confusion, “No. This is actually my boss, the Director of Marketing, Miss Miranda Polanski. Miss Polanski, this is Josiah Bartels.”

Miranda reaches her hand forward to politely shake Josiah’s hand. However, he doesn’t reciprocate the gesture. Instead he remains in his chair as if his body is only an empty shell.

“I’m missing something here? Do you too know each other?” Michael inquires shifting his gaze between his boss and friend and the stranger sitting opposite him.

Josiah remains silent.

After twenty-six seconds of unbearable silence, Miranda says, “I am the hurried, oblivious woman, Mr. Bartels encountered this morning. Although at the time he called me something else. I believe you used the phrase ‘incompetent, clumsy bitch.’ Was that it?”

Josiah nearly melts in his chair. His right eye twitches uncontrollably. His mouth moves to speak, but nothing comes out.

Michael breaks into the tension. “Mr. Bartels, do you believe you can work under Miss Polanski’s direction?”

The imperative question goes unanswered.

“Well, I believe we are done here,” Michael states after two minutes pass. “And it’s your loss too, Mr. Bartels. Miss Polanski is a phenomenal leader. I don’t know a single man, or woman for that matter, who could do her job any better. I’ll miss working with her, and even though you don’t know it, you will too.” He turns to Miranda and says, “Let’s go.”

Turning back toward Josiah, Michael says, “Thank you for coming in today. Todd will show you out. I wish you luck in your future career.” He leans in so Josiah doesn’t miss his final words. “Learn to follow good leaders, regardless of their gender. It’s a necessary lesson, one that will serve you well. Goodbye.”

Josiah opens his mouth to speak, but again, his voice is nowhere to be found. He simply nods appearing to understand how much his morning coffee spill cost him. Only when Todd enters the room three minutes later, does Josiah move and exit the building.