It's getting better, isn't it? I think so...so much so I can't even bear to look at the older stuff at the bottom! I worry at what shocking errors I will find...maybe it's better that way; signs of progression!
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
...benson tension
Angela sat quietly in the reception of TRS Global. She felt fidgety, twirling her hair with her fingers. Her wool skirt itched, her bra was too tight, and her bright red shoes made her feet ache. Cold beads of sweat dribbled down her back, mouth felt as dry as sandpaper. First day nerves really did suck, she thought.
The feeling reminded herself of her A Level exams where once she almost wet herself. The building smelt vaguely chemical twinned with stale air freshener. An old TV silently replayed grainy company propaganda of overly smiley men in coloured boiler suits. They reminded her of clowns. She didn't like clowns.
"Miss Benson?" the aging receptionist, who seemed to weigh entirely of foundation, called out.
"Y...Yes?" she croaked drily.
"Margaret will be with you shortly. Oh, and you may need to speak up; she's a bit Mutt and Jeff!" she sniggered.
Angela had not a clue what Mutton Jeff was.
A door opened. Shuffling footsteps caused Angela to bolt upright. She clutched her shiny red handbag in apprehension. She needn't have been so afraid. Margaret, all two foot nothing of her, appeared with wild greying hair that formed no discernable style, black horn rimmed glasses and a faint hint of lipstick. A hark back to a decade from a previous century, any century.
"Miss Henson? Margaret Timmins. We're glad to see you!" she offered her hand which was cold and corpselike. Angela shivered internally.
"Benson." Angela corrected her sternly.
"Tension? No dear, I do this every day!" Margaret smiled still holding onto Angela's sweaty palm. Angela did not bother to correct her again.
"I'll show you to your pod and get you settled in with the team."
Angela nodded even though she had no idea what a pod was. The thought of being around a team was mildly exciting.
Meeting new people, maybe even a boyfriend! The thought caused another ripple of butterflies to grow into hummingbirds.
Angela's eyes were drawn to some toilet paper that protruded from Margaret's plaid skirt. She giggled like the student she was just a few weeks before.
Totally oblivious to the fashion faux pas, Margaret opened a door. Angela still giggling strode past Margaret and into the office. Eyes immediately were drawn to Angela. Her stomach flipped at being the sole object of attention. She slunk her head into her chest to avoid the gaze of the group.
'No boys, dammit!" she thought.
"Girls, this is Angela Henson, I'm sure you'll all recognise her from Head Office. I bet you're all glad to see her again!" Margaret relayed proudly to the bank of women who all stood in unison from their pods like meerkats.
A pause hung in the air for a few second before a girl in a tight t-shirt and blond ponytail stood up and pointed at Angela. "Marge, you old bat...this isn't Angela!"
"It is! It's Angela Henson. She left TRS to have a baby and now we've got her from the agency again!" Margaret exclaimed.
"It's Benson." Angela gnashed.
"She said BENSON! Is the Alzheimer's kicking in again, Marge? Look at her, if she's had a sodding baby then I'm Beyonce! She's tiny!" Ponytail squawked causing the other girls to roar with laughter.
Angela felt crushed and started to cry.
"Fenton?" Margaret mused.
"My name is An..An..ANGELA BENSON." she mustered a sniffy response.
"Hansen?" Margaret floundered in error.
Ponytail offered Angela a seat, which she duly accepted. Her stomach muscles ached as she sobbed in the sleeve of her jacket.
"For the love of God, Marge, you've hired the wrong girl! Can't you see? I know Angela Henson, and this poor little love isn't Angela!" Ponytail pointed out as she put a consoling hand on the young Angela's head.
Margaret put her hand to her mouth in shock as realisation dawned on her.
"Oh. Oh dear. I am sorry, I am so sorry. I'm a bit deaf, dear. I couldn't hear the girl from the agency." Margaret apologized.
"Well, you could have read the bloody resume, you silly tart! Honestly, Marge, either get a hearing aid or some better glasses!" Ponytail shouted, with no love lost.
Angela felt the blood drain from her head as she vomited at Margaret's feet. She stood up and swung her handbag at
Margaret to create a gap for her to leave. Margaret stumbled and fell aside.
"I'm so sorry I am not Angela Henson!" Angela took her shoes off, ran out of the building into the rain with no job, no boyfriend, and her bra was still killing her.