Till The End

Till the End

The interviews had not been going well. Since nine o’clock this morning a steady line of rejects and reprobates had streamed in through my door. Some lost the job the minute they walked in. I expect an interviewee to be smart, not dressed in denim, covered in body piercing, and chewing gum. Others had appalling conversation skills and, even though the main job of a checkout assistant is to scan goods, they do need to be able to hold up some form of polite chitchat.
At two PM, I came back after lunch to start again. I heard the click-clack-clop of my heels hitting the cold hard floor as I walked past the next bunch of wanters, needers, and losers, then I saw one who stood out from the rest. I felt myself straightening up even further, sticking out my breasts and even smiling. I caught his gaze and grinned. His face split into a smile that reached his eyes as well as his ears. He was gorgeous; sparkling deep, dark eyes that in the artificial light look almost black, and dark mahogany-brown cropped hair set off his olive tanned skin to perfection.
I bet he’s thick. He can’t be intelligent and pretty, surely? I thought as I shut my office door behind me, sitting down at my desk and automatically reaching for my handbag. I took out my compact and powdered my nose, frowning as I noticed the lines that radiated around my eyes. I’m an old woman of forty-five and that day I felt more like a seventy-year-old, well, apart from when I walked past that young Adonis, then I felt young, virile and sexy.
You daft old bat! I chided myself. He’s a young man, stop fantasizing about him. He won’t want a wrinkled up fat bird on his arm, will he?
I slipped off my black blazer and draped it over my chair back. I sighed as I looked down at the ledge that is my cleavage. Some days I wished my breasts were detachable, they weigh a ton and men talk to them instead of me. They also drop down towards my navel when released from my bra, making me realise that I’m old enough to have gravity take control of my body. I am no longer young, pert, and defiant. The white material of my work blouse pulled taut as I reached forward to pick up a pen. I flipped open another button on my top, pretending to myself that it was because I was overheating in this summer haze and not because images of that young lad were burning in my mind.
I walked to the door, popped my head round, and called the first candidate in. She was a young girl who had at least made an effort to look smart. I looked down the row. The gorgeous lad was looking at one of the employee magazines, boring as hell, but more exciting than staring at the crème brulee colour of the corridor walls. There were another handful of people before I had to see him. I would have calmed down by that time, I hoped.
But, I hadn’t. Every time I took another failure to the door, my eyes were drawn to him. Several times his eyes met mine, making me feel as nervy as this crowd of reprobates looked. I kept calling out names, each time I came to a male name I hoped it was him, but it never was. Well, he was certainly eager, he must have turned up hours early for his interview.
I had really hoped I would have gotten all the potential checkout assistants I needed before getting to him, but I hadn’t. I had a couple who would be worth the training but I still needed a few more.