1st day Morning.

All the necessary maps were with us. I had made sure my sister sat beside me the night before and confirmed all the freeways towards the destination and back. Three highways were changed before we reached our exit. I had didi move to the right lane, a good mile and a half before, slowly. Buena Vista street was written in white letters on a green exit sign which hung down, from what, I still don't know, perhaps I was too busy looking at the directions mapquest and didi had put together. Per my advice, we turned left instead of right, sure enough, we got lost. Didi turned around and went the right direction. Luckily we lucked out and entered the grand gate. We were stopped to answer some questions to the security guard. It was a cold morning in the second week of January in 2004. I wore pair of black dressy trousers, a white tank top under a combination of white and baby pink horizontal striped net top, which never kept me warm, as a back up, I carried another baby pink crew neck sweater. I stood near the redish green backless bench as Didi drove out of my sight in the grey Camry which has the best stereo system.

After asking several people, "where is the TD building?", I finally went down the grey steps and up the elevator, covered with stainless steel, in which I quickly checked my hair, pressed the modern yellow buttons which lit green, the door opened wide and I entered the 4th floor. There were signs which read, "To the Right", "To the Left", "Go Straight", leading me to room 409B, for the first time, for the first day, for my orientation.

"Welcome! Please sign here." Said the lady with blonde hair and blue eyes with a beautiful smile on her face. "Did you have trouble finding the building?" She asked. "Oh not at all." I replied. I wonder if she knew that the very first sentence out of my mouth going towards her was a lie, which seemed to enter her ears just fine and made her smile once again.

I hesitated, yet the growling in my tummy had me make my way towards the long table, along the wall, covered by a bright yellow plastic table cloth. It held trays filled with black forks, knives and spoons. Clear cups with curvy detached handles were kept facing down, next to the plain white coffee mugs. Most attracting of them all were the plates filled with pastries, bagels, cakes, and muffins. A big glass bowl held ice on the bottom which was sweating with water. Perhaps those mini containers of Land-O-lakes crème cheese were making the ice cubes nervous, for whatever reason. I spread the crème cheese on a cinnamon raisin bagel which was cut in half; a cup of warm coffee was accompying the bagel and crème cheese, literally, in my hands and inside the tummy. I felt good.