Norms and expectations are too facile, they risk being broken or bent when faced with the ‘right’ predicament. You are at crossroads. A writhing dilemma, neither choice at your disposal can be plain sailed. Pondering on the rational thing to do in reflection of what awaits, you make a choice, a necessary evil.
Troy liked them at first, he used to stuff them into his lunchbox for mid-morning snack. He even earned him the moniker ‘Noodie’ from his peers. But a person can only have so much, after a while he resented them. Noodles were a cruel reminder that he wasn’t like other kids, it bolstered the feeling of constraint and impotence. It stalked him. Seeing him consumed you a piece a time but you held it down in public, wept rivers and soaked pillows behind doors. They are cooking for the umpteenth time in a loop, noodles. Yes, they are easy to prepare. But the crux of the matter is that finances are tight, sugarless-tea-tight. It’s been that way for a minute, a minute to mean something a little over 8 months. A minute to mean ever since you started taking care of him. A minute to mean ever since a nincompoop ex-boyfriend took off with your savings. A minute standing in for in between jobs. Maybe today it’ll change; the destituteness. He is sullen when you drop him at school, he has a right, he’s a kid. You landed an interview scheduled for 9.00 AM. If all goes well it takes you out of the gutter, there’s hope – a flicker. It’s what you’ve been running on, when you’re down in the dumps hope is the sole fuel that keeps you trudging on.
The receptionist at the vestibule blows gum into a bubble, bursts it and chews, smacking her lips noisily. She’s vexingly nonchalant. Gazes and chuckles at her phone and waves forms at people’s faces, it’s like she derives gratification from it, heck, she does. How in the world is she keeping this job? The complaint box must be overwhelmed. There’s only one way she does that; she must have dirt on someone. Probably conscious of a manager’s or CEO’s closet, and the skeletons therein. You’re the second at the waiting bay but in quick succession more people come in and the place is crammed with miscellaneous folk; some with clipboards and stacks of papers attached. Others had huge files. Some even came with calculators. Most donned glasses, because they have issues with their eyes maybe because glasses are misconstrued as motif for intelligence. Some wore ripped jeans. Some wore skimpy dress skirts. Some missed the memo and turned it into a fashion exposition. You wore a khaki trouser and a complimentary blazer and a thin folder of papers. A voice blurts name after name from behind the door and after a trail of interviews you are the last to be called in notwithstanding being second in line.
A man with a salt and pepper beard sits on a swivel office chair as you walk in, his feet are up on the desk. A Cuban cigar sticking from his fingers. On the right is a black coach. There is no other seat so that’s where you perch. He rolls over next to you, takes a dart at your folder and hurls it away. He couldn’t care less. But still there’s that thing, hope.
“Do you really fancy this job?”
“Yes Sir, I do”
“No, don’t call me Sir,” he says with a wink. His hand on your lap, moving intrusively close to your face. A smirk cutting in between his cheeks. His leathery hands are now making their way up your thigh. Their way – they seem to have a brain of their own, a defunct one for that matter. He need not to tell you what you have to do to get the job, it’s plain obvious, a fool would know. You read the cue and move away but soon run out of room, gradually out of choices. He is relentless, keeps closing in, his nicotine breath hangs. Beside you there is a ceramic jar. You could reach for it and bash his head in, this douche deserves it. But then this is a leeway in the worst form. It could be what salvages you and Troy. You quiver, huffing and puffing trying to find elusive words. Of what worth will you be to society if you give in? People would be quick to judge mindless that norms and expectations are too facile, they risk being broken or bent when faced with the ‘right’ predicament. You are at crossroads. A writhing dilemma, neither choice at your disposal can be plain sailed. Pondering on the rational thing to do in reflection of what awaits, you make a daring choice, a necessary evil.