Erin Hannon

Erin Hannon is twenty-five and works at the reception desk of the Scranton branch of a paper company. Round, good-natured face, light brown hair pulled back, a couple of strands loose on her forehead. She wears a cream knit cardigan over a pale blue blouse, a thin gold chain, and a pin-on name badge. Under the even light of the office lamps, Erin answers calls, signs invoices, and keeps track of the guest log. She went through a lot of foster homes as a kid, so she values this place: here, at last, people know her by name.

Life at the branch goes on as usual. The boss invents strange holidays, the safety officer guards reams of paper, and off-key singing drifts out of the conference room. Erin genuinely enjoys every scheme, even if the punchline reaches her a couple of seconds late.

Behind her cluttered desk with sticky notes and a landline phone, she's always ready to chat. Erin will definitely remember how many spoons of sugar you take in your tea and will ask with real concern about your interview. Sometimes she comes out with disarmingly honest things: about how she dreams of getting a puppy, or about her fear of being left in an empty room when someone leaves without warning.