Anna pressed the doorbell and waited patiently for one of the office workers to let her in. There was no sign on the door but she was given precise directions and she was confident she had the correct floor in the office.
Checking her watch, it was already 5:40pm and Anna started to peer through the glass door. The lights were on and she knew the lights operated on sensors, without movement, the office would have been dark.
5:45pm. She had already waited fifteen minutes. She will be getting paid regardless from when she starts but she will need to get everything done within the hour. Anna admired the durable, plastic watch on her wrist. Feeling conscious she was bare-faced and had no jewellery on. There was no reason to dress up, no one to impress in this line of work. Hard-wearing and resilient – this is how she saw herself in this temp job. She needed the money.
Every dollar mattered when she had to work two jobs to get by after having received notice of a rent increase due to “inflationary pressures”. There was no further explanation needed, nor provided. How easy was it for the “haves” to extract another fifty dollars per week from the “have nots”! Anna had to adjust, put aside her pride, and just take on a few extra hours of shift work. It was mindless. It suited her.
After working a full day as a junior assistant in a fashion design studio where she had to hustle, “play the game”, associate with the “higher-ups” and “putting yourself out there”, to get onto the “right” assignments. Incessant self-promotion. It was mentally exhausting. Being a junior, she did all the grunt work and was desperate to apply her creativity after graduating a year ago. Anna had to adjust more to suit her “day job”.
Now, she felt she was leading a duplicitous life, hiding in plain sight, and getting paid to spy, as an undercover cleaner, at the competitor design house.
5:55pm. Anna pressed the doorbell again. Still no response. As she reached into her pocket for her phone, ready to send a message to the cleaning company about the access situation, she suddenly saw a pair of brown brogues at the other side of the glass door. She looked up. A tall man in a white shirt and plaid trousers unlocked the door and gave her a wry smile.
As Anna walked in with her cleaning caddy through the narrow doorway, she noticed his shirt was untucked at the back, and his sweaty body odour, wafting through the vestibule.
‘Sorry for the wait. I didn’t actually hear the doorbell,’ said the middle-aged, dishevelled man.
His sandy hair was tousled and he had on those thick, black spectacle frames normally reserved for arty types. He had a Jaeger-LeCoultre Reverso watch on. Probably one of the partners.
‘It’s fine’, said Anna as she set down her heavy, vacuum backpack that was strapped over her cleaner’s uniform. It was not fine, in fact. She now had thirty minutes to clean the entire office! She heard the glass door slam behind her as Reverso man left.
In the open-plan office, there were a myriad of mood-boards with sketches and fabric strips pinned on it. Large, messy workstations with sewing machines and loose threads, bits of paper and fabric all over the cutting room floor.
Anna looked at swatches and pattern cut-outs of Industrial Chic streetwear pants, skirts, tunics in pops of berry and olive that were on display on semi-naked mannequins with pins stuck into them. These designs were fresh, modern, incredible! It is obvious why they were known as the leading design house. Utterly absorbed in scrutinising the designs, and assuming she was all by herself, she just stood there in awe.
On the other side of the office, there was a loud bang, as a young woman in a high pony was buttoning up her black blouse which draped loosely on top of her pencil skirt, dashed out of the screen printing room.
Anna spun around.
‘Oh my God, Anna, what are you doing here?’
Like a deer-in-headlights, she came face-to-face (unfortunately, bare-faced) with her design school alum, Missy. Anna froze on the spot, exposed, speechless, during what felt like an eternity of silence.
Embarrassed, Missy tucked her blouse in, her crimson face reflecting a light layer of sheen.
‘This is as close as I can get to working here’, Anna said awkwardly, and then naively, she whispered, ‘How did you manage to score your position here? I didn’t think they even hired graduates!’
Unexpectedly, Missy’s expression soured to a look of dismay when she replied, ‘We all have our secrets’.
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