a job seeker's bane

She stepped into the reception area quite clumsily in an effort to dodge any raindrops that may soil her over worn suite. As she shook her umbrella, she was extremely aware of the eyes from behind the desk that summed her up into quite a small unit. However, she chose not to be intimidated.
Squaring her small shoulders and patting her rather thick hair down absently, she matched up to the desk, a charming smile coated her faintly glossed lips.
“Good morning, madam,” she managed politely and stated her reason for her call that morning. the receptionist raised her exquisitely cut brows, glanced at her boredly in one sweeping glance and languidly, as if not to mess her freshly manicured nails, picked the phone and placed a call to her boss.
Anne did not burge, she had met many receptionists and secretaries like this before, snobbish and without a trace of customer care. She had heard rumours that most times they were sleeping with the boss and a new girl, better looking than them would pose a real threat. She was determined not to be ousted if she finally got this job. she’d looked around for far too many, gone for numerous interviews only to have them make her unfulfilled promises or worse still hound her down for dinner, coffee and sex eventually. She was sick of it all.
“You can go in,” the receptionist’s voice was lazy as she made another sweeping with her hand to the door she should go through. Anne walked to the door warily and knocked, then turned the doorknob to usher herself into a plush spacious office. The scent in the room was a blend of some masculine perfume-designer, she supposed- mingled with the faint odour of polished furniture. Her eyes fell on the huge man behind the desk.
“Come in, come in,” he urged her in a faint British accent, without looking up. She imagined he had been brought up in a well to do family that had spent most of his early years abroad and now Britain was oozing out of him. “Please have a seat,” he added, still not looking up.
“Thank you,” Anne replied carefullyseating herself in the chair in front of his desk. finally, he looked up and seemed for a fleeting moment to pause as if studying her then quickly address her. “I’ve been looking through your CV and it is very impressive, I must say…” she nodded, made a few comments accordingly throughout the whole assessment but was oddly aware of the fact that his eyes seemed to roam over her in an unusual manner. It made her feel almost naked.
Suddenly, he asked her something that got her suspicious and guarded. “Are you seeing someone?”
She frowned, “my CV states my status, sir”
“Yes, it says single but single could mean attached” as he clasped his hands together, her eyes caught the sparkle of a wedding band on his marriage finger. She raised her brow slightly; deeply disappointed that this was yet another of them men that felt they could get favours in exchange for a job. She pitied the woman that was bound to him in matrimony.
“I am single, sir,” she stubbornly stated with a finality in her voice. He seemed slightly daunted but covered it up.
“Well,” he sighed, “you do have all the qualities this firm needs and also the fact that you’re single is an added advantage. You see, there will be a number of out of Kampala engagements and being attached would make it pretty hard for you.”
He paused slyly, “if you have any questions, please…” he trailed off.
“No sir,” she replied, looking back at him.
He smiled faintly, “well, then…” he stood up and walked round to her. In his hand, he held a small paper… his business card. “There is more we need to discuss but I am held up now, what about later on today over coffee, hmm?”
She frowned deeper, “I…I thought we had discussed everything?”
“Yes, almost…” he remarked as though tired of her incessant defiant remarks. “Nevertheless, there is some more I need to discuss with you. Coffee or dinner?” he asked unashamedly handing her the card.
She cleared her throat, now sure, where this was heading. “I’ll think about it.”
“You don’t have much time, about ten hours. Do call me at lunch and let me know.” he added. She stood up “thank you sir for your time.
“You’re welcome. Do call and call me Mike, drop the ‘sir’ formality, it makes me feel old” he humored. She pursed her lips.
“Have a good day,” he continued charmingly, leading her to the door, “a pretty girl like you deserves one.”
Utterly disgusted, she almost run out of the firm. Tears welled up in her eyes as the whole episode replayed in her mind.
Her heart sunk and broke for his wife and herself. She ripped the card in her hand into many pieces as she had done many times before, thinking how nice it would have been to be an assistant in such a place, but not at such a price. Pangs of sadness, remorse and regret jabbed at her, was this the fate of every job seeker?

the waiting

there is a waiting man, standing,

then turning.

he seems uncertain of his next move.

the morning is early, way too early to be confused.

then i shrug.

its easy for me to think so.

I've got stacks of work on my desk, a mug of hot creamy coffee before me and the newspaper___

I'm turning it over browsing through the commercial page, nonchalantly.

my favourite page because it makes me look more important than i know i am.

i love this cafe. most especially this seat by the window.

weekday mornings are such a joy-stealer; coffee in this spot is all i can do to get warmed up to face my desk, my boss, my boring life.

today may be different.

the man, perks up my curiosity.

he is standing a few feet from my window but i can tell from the rather anxious look on his face that he is waiting for something or someone...

i could profile him...

I've got an hour before office officially opens.

where's my pen?

note pad?

i can tell he is waiting, looking at his watch at intervals of 2 to 3 minutes. the paper in his hand is a charade of his real intention at this spot. he just doesn't want anybody snooping in his business.

no one would anyway, everyone is dashing through the slight drizzle to get to the familiar safety of their work place.

maybe away from the screaming kids, a lousy hubby or a terrible housemate. but he is not running from that. he is trying to find his way back___

retrace his steps in a direction where he missed it

what?

he walks to the table, directly next to me. only the the glass between us , makes us total strangers. he pauses as if to sit but glances at his watch again and seems to think twice about it.

he is turning again. his eyes sad and distant. his soul in an emotional limbo, then he pulls out his phone, stashed away in his trench coat pocket...a beautiful masculine piece...

a message.

"can't make it, Tcherrie. will call you"

and i watch his face. his jaws get taut for a split second. his slightly callous fingers smother the phone as if asserting his masculinity over it. then his hold relaxes and his face softens

in a sad despondent mode, he raises the phone and punches a few numbers- then thinks about it...

and we glance at our watches simultaneously.

its time to go.

and the coldness of the day uncannily edges deeper into my soul.

i swallow my last drops of coffee and get up. he gets up too. i cast him a sympathetic glance and realise he is watching me too..

he knows i know.

we seem to communicate, beyond the cold glass

and his eyes speak back. it will be okay

i smile faintly, reassurringly, as i shoulder my limp bag, i hope she calls

thi s is like one of my trial thingies... i cant hold up 2 blogs , lol! what do i write here...nway, will...see/. it needs a lota touchup, colour and all....