Everything in the dim office was the same shade of soul-crushing mustard tan, from the ancient wall-to-wall carpeting to the file cabinets haphazardly half-blocking the windows, which were covered by drawn, sunlight-swallowing, brown roll-up shades.  There were six rectangle desks jammed side by side into the stale room, each sloppily covered by piles of papers, computer printouts, and old deli coffee cups. None of their human counterparts were present save for one man with a desperate comb-over and a suit vest with no jacket, staring from the far corner of the room.  It was silent but for the occasional unanswered phone ringing and the water cooler which emitted a deep, angry hum. Even the air felt beige and chunky in my chest, like hummus. I wheezed wetly as I shifted my weight on the mushy chair cushion in the gloomy  waiting area, shadowy due to a broken bulb in the fluorescent light fixture on the ceiling.

I looked down at the resume in my hand, a ludicrous work of fiction weaved from high school summer jobs and a few college internships printed on heavy overcompensating stock paper.   I was freshly graduated and spiffy in my professional yet comfy work shoes, culottes and sensibly silky shirt complete with carefully applied mascara I kept accidentally wiping deep into my eyes. It was like a Halloween costume of a grownup, it felt tight and unnatural stretched around my body and if I wasn’t vigilant bits of my stomach poked through the spaces in-between my shirt buttons.

I had the air of Penn Station still on me as I wandered the sidewalks of midtown, answering newspaper ads that always ended up being employment agencies successfully convincing me the only work in New York City for a college graduate was either sales or secretarial, and I couldn’t sell Pringles to a stoner.  They would tell you a degree was absolutely necessary to begin a career and then remind you that spelling counted on the typing test.

“Hello? Hello? Hellllll-lo” came an impatient nasal honk from behind a tall metal cabinet to my right. I stood and made my way towards the sound and confronted a completely round man standing in the hallway, red-faced and panting from the exertion of being upright. His neck was as wide as his head and shoulders.  His arms curved out as they rested against a chest and stomach that looked coated in a bullet proof vest, meeting at his tiny feet in perfect sKC-03633.2Lymmetry.  He looked like a beach ball airbrushed with a face and suit.

“I can’t walk so good” he squeaked in strained complaint, taking my paperwork and wobbling on the faded carpet in a stiff three-point turn, “I hurt my neck, can’t move it, it’s killing me.” It did not seem like a neck that moved in even the best of circumstances. He teetered into the brown room and maneuvered himself behind his desk, lowering into a battered office chair gently, keeping the wince on his face even when the enormity of his mass stopped moving.  He motioned to a chair situated in the narrow aisle running down the center of the office, positioning me tightly between the only two men in an otherwise empty room.

“Things are bad, toughtoughtough” he said, talking to the space around my eyes and nose without actually looking at me, “you know I had a girl come in a few weeks ago, late, I was the only one here” he said, tossing my application and all pretense of professionalism onto the desk with a light slap.  He turned awkwardly to his right to make sure comb-over was listening.  He was. He spun his chair around to face us and crossed his ankle over his knee, showing the top of a black suede elf boot and a sliver of white, hairless skin.

“She begged me to see her, even though it was after closing” he continued lecherously, drooling out the words, “I figured I’d do her a favor, you know?” I noticed his neck became flexible when he needed to throw a conspiratorial wink in elf boot’s direction. “So I went to get her file and when I came back, she was stark naked, just standing there, right where you’re sitting,” he said, raising his eyebrows at me and causing my butt muscles to instinctively clench into the chair cushions. “She said ‘I need a job’” he re-enacted in sleazy falsetto. “I woulda went for it, except me and the wife were fighting and we just made up that day. Otherwise, I woulda went for it, I woulda.” Elf boots nodded in hypothetical assent.  I wondered how a sexual performance would be possible considering his Weeble shape and lack of mobility. Surely his genitals were painted on.

“Yep, people are doing all sorts of things to get work” he wrapped up, as if an interview had happened and was now over.
“With legs like yours you should have no trouble” a chipper comb-over chimed in from my left, which would have been good news if I was auditioning for the Rockettes. I shifted in my seat, hoping my skin was safely tucked away inside my shirt.
The water cooler gurgled from the corner, the air became browner, I walked my nice gams basimple_exercises_for_sexy_legsck to Penn Station, rubbing at my mascara until it flaked off like black snow.

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