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anxiously followed the masses down into the Court Street stop.
    At Union Square in Manhattan, I stepped off the train and stood on the platform for a moment, taking in the madness. Then I looked overhead and studied the signs to find the correct uptown route before I plunged into the swarming crowd. Along the way, I strolled by an eight-person jazz band and what appeared to be a fully functioning police station. Underground . On the final leg of my journey, I avoided the scary smiles of a few The World Is Ending pamphlet pushers, steered clear of a couple of sleeping/passed out people, and finally descended another stairway to reach the correct uptown platform, which was teeming with commuters moving in all directions. In the middle of the chaos, a man with dreadlocks down to his waist calmly played a Jamaican steel drum.
    It wasn’t even nine o’clock.
    As I waited for the connecting train to arrive, I wondered if anyone actually lived in the subway. It certainly seemed possible. I figured it was only a matter of time before someone made a reality show out of it.
    • • •
    I arrived at NBC with time to spare. Scotty had been traveling the entire week before, so we hadn’t connected more than briefly by phone. That meant I was essentially walking into my first day blind—and desperately hoping I wouldn’t crash into anything.
    I checked in with the receptionist at the front desk, who directed me to HR to fill out some paperwork before I was to join the team at ten o’clock. When I was done with that, I still had time to kill, so I played with my phone for a while and pretended to look busy. Finally, I decided to make my way to the conference room. As I walked down the crisp hallways, I half expected a security guard to appear out of nowhere, grab my elbow, and escort me from the premises.
    I couldn’t believe how nervous I was.
    I arrived at the meeting about five minutes early. There was only one person seated at the huge table, and he looked about seventeen, so I figured he was an intern. He appeared to be playing a game on his phone. I smiled at him and sat down at the opposite end of the table, wondering if he was an executive’s kid. I pulled out a notebook and looked over at him again. He didn’t raise his eyes from the screen.
    OK, then.
    A few minutes later, the room began to fill up. People arrived in pairs or threes, chatting among themselves. No one paid memuch attention, so I focused on breathing deeply and trying not to sweat too much. Then Scotty walked in.
    Thank God. A familiar face.
    As soon as he saw me, he trotted over to give me a big hug. Apparently, it’s OK to hug at the office in the world of TV.
    “Waverly! It’s so great to see you. Welcome to NBC. Welcome to New York!”
    “Thanks, Scotty. It’s great to see you too. I can’t believe this is really happening.” I kept my voice low.
    “I’m so excited to have you on board. You’re going to do just great.”
    “I’m totally nervous,” I added in a whisper.
    He squeezed my shoulders tightly. “Don’t worry for a minute. Let’s grab coffee after this, OK?”
    I nodded and sat down as he walked to the front of the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce the newest member of the Love, Wendy team, Ms. Waverly Bryson.”
    Everyone looked at me. I smiled and tried to make eye contact all around, but it felt a bit forced. I hoped no one noticed how uncomfortable I felt.
    “As you may already know, she’ll be hosting a new segment called Honey on Your Mind , based on a popular advice column she wrote for the San Francisco Sun . It’s going to be a fun addition to the show.”
    After a few smiles and nods in my direction, everyone turned back to Scotty.
    “ Plus she’s a lot of fun, especially after a couple drinks, so I’m excited to have her on board and know you will all love her just as much as I do.”
    More smiles and nods in my direction. I’d never been in a work environment that so blatantly blurred the