I could feel my heart beat into my throat and ears. It felt like every vain in by body was on overdrive to pump all the blood to my heart to keep me alive. Adrenaline, I suppose. Thankfully, one of the greatest perks about acting is that you can feel anything you want. You can be sad, furious or filled with joy, and if you were good at it. No one could tell how you were feeling if they were dense enough. Acting can come become very useful. At this point, I'm trying to find a job that keeps my family and I in a non-heated, two bedroom, no bathroom tenement. I have no where to complain, believe me. At least we aren't scavenging for scraps on the streets. Honestly, I'm fine with any roof over my head. As for finding a job, I would much rather not be escort or a food merchant. Both careers don't seem exciting, or safe, even though I couldn't say I'm the safest person here in Republic City. No one is safe, now that I think about it.
Anyhow, I'm here -in this very stuffy 100 year old antique closet that shouldn't be called an office- being interviewed by a century old woman. I think she's a century old. I could be wrong. Her wrinkly face sags in an unhealthy way from too much sun, or her grandchildren pulled on her face too long. I can see some dirt clogs finding refuge in there too. Now, that wasn't very nice. Let me restart, I'm here with this wonderfully, old woman in an interview room to be hired as a maid to clean City Hall.
As I sat patently, I caught her eyes flicking back and forth at me, searching for any faults, or weaknesses. Maybe she thought my hands were too skinny to push a mop. Smiling brightly, I waited for her to look back at my resume. She looked bored with my carefully, hand-written resume. Come on now, it's a cleaning job. How hard could it possibly be that I needed a background check?
I sighed softly, and looked towards the tiny window that peered out over City Hall's courtyard. People moved to and fro, weaving in and out of each other like ants, but they didn't run into each other or climb over each other with leaves or other antly objects.
An obnoxious cough took my focus away from the window. Winkle-woman opened a cacophonous drawer and started to fiddle through a filing cabinet. Reaching for her desired packet, she grabbed a regularly used Stamp of Approval and brutally attacked the packet of papers with red ink. Sliding the paper around, she said with a raspy voice, "sign your enisles here, here and here. And on the next page sign it again wherever there are blank signature boxes." Reaching inside the filing cabinet, she pulled out a handsomely expensive cigar. Placing the cigar between her crusty lips, she lit the cigar with her finger. "Don't even try reading it. It's a waste of my time."
If this job wasn't on the line, I would sophisticate you with your wrinkles. "Would you like me to open the window?" I asked politely, without a hint of mildly, brooding anger.
Inhaling the smoke, she said in a wheezy voice, "the window doesn't open."
"Have they tried fixing it?"
"I made it like that. Keeps the room smellin' nice," Winkle-woman said. I did my best not to ask her why she thought cigars smelt nice, so I smiled and signed my life away. I was trying to find the upside to all of this. What could be so bad about this job? Some health benefits, sleep in during the day, five yuan an hour, how hard could it be?
"When will I be starting, ma'am?" I asked, once I signed the final signature. The pen started to leak all over the antique desk, so I covered the evidence with a cup. Thankfully the woman needed eye-glasses to see. Taking a pare of reading glasses that had a chain around her neck, she read over the contract. She took out her century old Stamp of Approval and permanently stamped my name. Might as well have stamped my soul.
"Tomorrow morning," she said as she handed back my resume, "before dawn." I guess sleeping in is out of the question.
Taking back my resume, I stood up and respectfully bowed to the woman. Saying my goodnights, I walk out of the stuffy room. I swear a puff of smoke followed right behind me. As I walked through the small hallways with pictures without glass, and chipped tile that could severely hurt someone's feet, I wondered how I found that office. After remembering someone escorted me to the closet-office, I did my best to remember which way we took. It was like an eerie maze. Finally reaching the spiral stares, I followed the grimy rail down to the last floor with the clunking of my boots against the metal stairs. A brown door with a disfigured brass nob awaited me. It screamed for joy that I was given a job, and my reward was the safety and security of crowds instead of this murder infested building. Walking outside to the cool air, the ant people became bigger, and quicker in speed.
Feeling the wind on my face and past my ears, I had no idea I would love fresh air this much. Then, I smelt a cigar.