Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Should have worn Spanx, slacks and flats.

My "body shaper" climbed up and bunched at the top of my thighs as I attempted to saunter into the building. The wind blew my hair over my face and sent my skirt flying up to my bunched up girdle-thing. No time to fool around with bulging synthetic fabric or faint with embarrassment over everybody on the first floor catching a glimpse of it, because at this moment I needed to convince myself that under NO circumstances was it possible for anybody to rattle this professional woman who deserves to make a few bucks more an hour so she can pay more taxes.

No way. I casually glided into the powder room, where I quickly adjusted my girdle thing and briefly considered taking the damn thing off and sticking it in my purse. But I opted to leave it on, fearing that this would be the day security decides to search it. I checked out my formerly perfectly coiffed mane. It looked about as good as it did last night after I finished carving my path of destruction. Except this morning I noticed a swarm of little flyaway strands sticking out every which way. I guess I cut a little bit too short in a few places.

Annoyed by the ugly mess created by a marriage of my folly and gale force winds, I threw it up in a sloppy-looking ponytail- which, I might add, looked much better. Very much satisfied with the work, I smugly strutted out the door. At which time I promptly twisted my big clown foot in an unnatural direction and came crashing down about as gracefully as Jack & the Beanstalk's giant.

Of course I let out a shrill yelp as I fell, throwing my lanky arms to the heavens instead of trying to regain some equilibrium. For one or two seconds, I sat on the floor stunned, legs sprawled in different directions, and looking back at the hordes of people witnessing my downward spiral into yet more humiliation for just being ME. I tried to get up, but had of course forgotten about the DAMN sling-back heels and the DAMN skirt, but remembered about the girdle thing, which caused me to slip and plop right back down. I again stared back at the crowd of onlookers. Even security had stopped wanding people to get a good look. I knew that I would never be able to stand up by myself, so I picked out the nerdiest looking guy, and gave him a helpless come-hither.

Thankfully it worked on others, because that idiot continued to dumbly glare at my not-so-well-covered crotch while I was being hoisted aloft by two superheros who turned out to be attorneys. I love attorneys. As long as I don't need one for anything besides helping me peel my sweaty legs off a dirty marble floor. I realized that my elbow hurt and my beautiful, bone-colored linen-blend skirt was all dusty and dirty, where else? On my ass. I intermingled thank-yous with "Ooooooh nooooo, look at my skirt" and "Ouch, do you see a scrape on my elbow?" I was starting to think I chipped a bone.

One of my heroes said, "Oh wait hold on." He drew his cell phone, like a knight unsheathing his sword, and told somebody to bring the Shout wipes down to the first floor. Within seconds, it seemed, a young lady showed up with the shout wipes, and the situation was explained to her. She knowingly nodded, as if she understood completely, and suggested that we fix my little problem in the bathroom. I was all for that, but looked back at Perry Mason and Matlock, wondering if they would be gone when I emerged. Maria, the secretary or assistant person, deftly wiped my dusty butt off and then soaked the spot with a damp towel. Then she slapped efficiently at the hand dryer and told me to stand there until it dried. I looked at my watch. "Any guess how long this will take?" I yelled. She shrugged her shoulders empathetically. "Ten minutes?"

I looked at my watch again. I had fifteen minutes before I was due on the second floor. At least I'm always early, that was definitely a blessing today. I stood there for a few minutes until people started giving me nasty looks for taking up a hand dryer. I pulled my knit blouse over the splotch and walked back out towards the elevators. Lo and behold, Mason and Matlock were standing nearby, chatting about something lawyer-like. I thanked them both from the bottom of my pathetic soul, and made as many disparaging comments about my maladroitness as possible before we moved on to more pleasant subjects, like the fact that they both have offices in this building. We all entered the elevator, and I noticed that we all got along famously; we really would make a wonderful Three's Company situation, until I spotted wedding bands. Damn! The door opened and out I stepped. This time I only stumbled, and as the doors closed, I could hear booming laughter.

Glad somebody could laugh. And I still had that interview.

I flopped into a chair after checking in with the chick at the computer. Looking around, I started to not feel so badly, as everybody else around there looked like a bunch of hung-over clods. Why did I go to all this trouble, I heard my inner voice begin to whine. Why didn't I just wear jeans like them? But I started to feel superior, and arched my regal back as I basked in my elegance. A very tall woman in high heels that made her tower over all of us opened a door and said in a raspy voice, "Mental Hygiene Unit," and looked right at me. Losing all composure, I grabbed my papers and my handbag and rushed towards the door. "That's me," I eagerly bellowed. As we walked through cubicles and past break rooms, the Amazon woman said, "I'm Cruella, and I'll be conducting your interview, along with another director, Walter. Do you have any questions?"

No, I didn't have any questions. I handed Cruella my application, which was hardly filled out. She looked at it as we continued to walk. I tried to pull my girdle-thing down every time Cruella glanced into an office to see if she could bug the occupant with one of her witty one-liners. I wished to God I'd ordered some Spanx last time I was up for my weekly insomnia attack watching QVC. Damn! Why didn't I get some of those! I would have been fine if I had just ordered the fucking Spanx.

"I can't interview you today," Cruella squealed, losing the raspiness and wheeling around as she planted her big foot in front of me. "How do you expect me to interview you if you don't even fill out your application?" I replied that I was already employed with our fair organization, and I was under the impression that I could dispense with that formality. "Formality?!" I could see this was going in the wrong direction, so I quickly blamed it all on the HR girl who contacted me a couple weeks ago, saying that she had told me not to bother with it, although I downloaded it myself and filled some of it out just in case the information could be of use to someone. The old shrew softened a bit, but was still wary of my last statement.

The interview commenced, with the same old stupid "What skills do you bring...." type of questions that I can never answer for shit. After succeeding of making a huge fool out of myself, I was set free, and oddly had no problem walking in my elbow-crushing sling-backs for the rest of the day. Even the girdle thing didn't seem to bother me. I didn't care.

I was exhausted. I hadn't slept a wink, I'd fucked up my interview, thus closing the deal on my future with the Organization, I had made a huge ass out of myself in front of at least a hundred people, and I suspected that there was a large round discolored spot on my ass where Maria had blotted and dabbed like she was basting her Thanksgiving turkey. I wasn't in the mood.

I had to go to a stupid training class right after the interview/slaughter. The room was empty. Good, I thought. A moment of peace and quiet. All of a sudden, the nerdy guy who stared intently at my crotch instead of help me get my ass off the floor appeared in the doorway. He turned around and walked back out and down the hall. That's weird, I thought. Am I that much of an idiot? A couple minutes later, he reappeared. His pants were all bunched at the crotch as well, but it was definitely not because he had a girdle on. He seated himself at the opposite end of the room from me. Good, I telepathically communicated. You are the very last person in the world I'd like to sit next to right now. By the way, nerdy guy. Have you ever heard of Spanx?

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