Maybe Hiring

  Maybe Hiring

  By

  Aurelia Knight

  Copyright © 2018 Aurelia Knight.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  ASIN: B07DPNJVZT

  Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.

  Front cover image by Adobe stock extended license.

  Provided by Kindle Direct Publishing, Inc., in the United States of America.

  First printing edition 2018.

  Table of Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  1

  I didn't know why I loved him. We'd never met, but the man in that one shampoo commercial made my heart thump. I pushed a chip into my mouth with the enthusiasm of a limp noodle. I chewed a piece of curly brown hair with the chip, making a disgusting glob.

  I reached to the back of my throat trying to retrieve the mess. It was the perfect metaphor for my life, half swallowed, and had to be yanked back up. The man in the commercial didn't meet my eyes. People on TV never do, but I swore he looked over my head to avoid the spectacle.

  I looked around my apartment wondering if the walls had gotten smaller. My presence filled the space until there was nothing left. I avoided looking at my surroundings most times. At this moment, it was obvious why. There were wrappers and take out containers everywhere. Dirty clothes hung in excess, an elaborate monument to destitution. I wondered if I concentrated hard enough if everything would disappear. So far, no luck.

  I had been laid off a week before and I had a tough time adjusting. I had been hired eight months before this disaster to digitize local records at city hall. My dream came true. No one bothered me. No one complained. I sat in a basement with a row of too small windows surrounded by the seductive scent of old paper. The sun would shine. The dust motes floating through the air would light up like falling beacons of another time. The air would glow golden. I knew I did something very important. I was a historian. A small time, irrelevant one.

  Then, I scanned the last file. The digital world absorbed the last bit of knowledge. They had no more use for me, and I had no reason or right to return to the place that was a refuge for me. If they ever needed someone they would call. I doubted they would. I didn't care about working at City Hall. I cared about what I did there.

  I stashed some money during fatter times. I didn't have anything all that impressive, enough that if I needed two weeks to find a job and two weeks to receive a paycheck I would be alright. One week passed, no one came to the couch to offer me a job. I spent my money like an employed person. The takeout containers evidenced that. A fog fell away from me. The state of my life revolted me. Why did I let everything get so out of hand?

  The walls constricted around me. My whole life was like a boa constrictor tightening around me, waiting to swallow me whole. My hand clutched at my chest. Did I still breath? I found my lungs and concentrated on slowing my breath. Little spots of light popped in my vision as the oxygen returned to my brain. I tried to remember back to a different time. I didn't succeed. I had always been this dramatic, maudlin, mess of a person.

  I should have been filling out applications, even though I wasn't. Looking over the job postings depressed me. A bachelor’s in liberal arts was not a highly competitive asset. That alone didn't make the whole problem. I wanted to work, and someone would hire me. I had no excuses that would make sense. Never sitting in a folding chair while scanning bits of history tormented me. The feeling seemed crazy to any rational person out there, but I could tell I would never have anything better.

  My thoughts felt like a cage. Sitting alone with them overwhelmed me. I forced my stiff body off the couch for the first time in longer than I wanted to admit. I shuffled around my apartment as the blood returned to my legs. I found the cleanest possible matching clothes. I came up with something that nearly matched and seemed clean. I wasn't getting any better than this.

  I lived in an old and cheap building. The knobs and fixtures all worked like crap. My door stuck as I tried to turn the knob. I shook the handle. When I pried the cold metal open I bounded out of my door with so much force I nearly ran into the door on the opposite wall. I righted myself at the last possible second. I was glad I didn't need to explain to my neighbors why I ran head first into their door.

  I ran down the hall, desperate to escape the scene behind me. I closed the buildings main door behind me. I looked up and saw one of my neighbors coming up the path with groceries. I felt bad about not holding the door for her, but I didn't do much of anything right these days.

  I loved late spring. Pollen floated through the warm air in thick clouds. My eyes itched, but I still loved the fragrant air. I didn't mind not having a car this time of year. I walked three blocks to arrive at the library and city hall.

  The trip was short even though this side of town had long blocks. The two buildings were identical. They even sat across from each other in the same parking lot. A couple of things made them look different like paint and signage, but the difference was obvious.

  I walked passed city hall even though I thought the effort might kill me. Non-city officials were barred from the record room and basement in general. That meant me, now. I turned my head and I kept walking. I kept my head held high despite my plummeting lows. I made my way up the path and through the large arching doorway. I found the stairwell to the basement. My knowledge of city hall translated directly.

  Before I even passed the landing that led into the basement, the familiarity struck me. The scent was so much like my make shift office, I closed my eyes and pretended I was there. This section of the library didn't get much use. All the new releases and classics lived upstairs under a big round sky light. I didn't think poorly of anyone for the preferential treatment. I looked around. I couldn't help empathizing with the basement books.

  Several full collections of no longer published magazines sat on the shelves. A shelf of nothing but outdated textbooks, and scientific articles stood covered in dust. Certain shelves didn't have an obvious theme other than full. Poetry books from the seventies and countless other things no one looked at in ages studded the long walls. The time slipped by as I investigated the irrelevancy. I sneezed like crazy as I wiped years of dirt away from the untouched tombs.

  I was filthy, covered in dust. I pulled my dirty hair into something like a bun to keep the locks out of my face as I searched. I found the first bit of peace I had in a while. I picked up an old book on dinosaurs. They always fascinated me. A T-Rex stood upright on the cover.

  He roared and whipped his head back and forth. I wiped the binding clean. I spoke aloud without giving myself permission to do so. "No one needs to want you for you to matter. You don't need to be right to matter." My thoughts settled, calm and wistful.

  "Seems an odd thing to tell an old book, but true enough." A warm male voice intruded the otherwise still space.

  I leapt
further into the air than I thought possible. The book I held went flying. I let out an unfortunate squeak. "What the shit?" I turned and saw a man standing behind me. He was tall, and I thought blonde. His hair was too short to tell for sure. His green eyes met my brown ones for a brief moment. The book hit the ground with a resounding thud. He dropped his eyes looking like he might laugh. "Can I help you?"

  "Do you work here?" He had a hopeful expression.

  "No." My tone was clipped I couldn't tell if he was looking for a book or trying to flirt. I shook from the shock of him being behind me.

  "Then, I doubt you can." He gave me a judgmental look.

  "Sneaking up on people is still rude, you know." My voice came out somewhere between rude and flirtatious.

  His face was all hard, angular lines and wide lips. He pursed those lips deciding how to handle me. I didn't blame him. I was far from my best behavior. "I apologize for scaring you." He decided. "But this is a public library. I'm just looking for a book." His expression looked impatient, or he tried very hard not to laugh.

  I tried to soften the edge in my voice as I discovered I wanted to keep talking to him. "What book would you want down here?" I moved my hand to push a stray lock of hair from my face.

  His cheeks turned bright pink. "Uhm, something about birds..."

  I stared at him waiting for the punchline. My attitude toward him may not have been fair, but interruption irritated me. "Why the hell are you looking for an old book on birds?"

  His eyebrows raised in surprise, and at that moment I understood he was handsome. "I don't really have to tell you that." His eyebrows twisted into a dissatisfied curve as he met my stare. I bent under the weight of his gaze. Was I rude, or clueless?

  His tone castigated me. That and the matching look of disgust on his face said enough. The bravado that pushed me to demand information from him faded. I felt like an ant beneath his feet. I needed to escape before he crushed me.

  He turned toward the shelf "I...". He started to say something, but I wouldn't miss an opportunity to escape the situation. I didn't hear what he said. I left. I cleared the stairs and the landing before he finished. I embarrassed myself enough for one day.

  "Why did you do that?" No one was on the street to witness me. Rain fell from the sky, instead of fighting I gave in. The water seemed appropriate. "What is your problem?" I asked aloud again, no one had the answer.

  2

  I got a job at the physical office for an online college before my bills got too far behind. They posted an ad seeking office help and I had plenty of experience filing. The position was as anticlimactic as I feared. I liked working in an office, except all the new paper. I talked to people a lot too, and I had no fondness for that. Some of them seemed nice, and I found I didn't mind too much when some of them spoke to me.

  One of the admissions counselor, Tyler, seemed nice, if not a little pushy. He checked in with me my first few days. I found him cute enough. No other women my age worked there. A handful in their mid-thirties, the majority was made up by women in their fifties. Most of them had grandchildren. I found we didn't have much in common. The office administrator stayed up my ass. At first, I was offended, but after a week I got over that. She did the same to everyone.

  I was smart enough that I took to most jobs. I possessed all the skills that made for a good office worker. I was pleasant, professional, and timely. I played my role for a few hours a day. Then the day would end and so would the charade. I made a good show of adjusting there.

  I would ride the bus home and wind up sitting on the couch alone again without any memory of how I got there. I cleaned my apartment since getting a job. There was still a lot of laundry. At least most of the mess was clean now. My habitat looked greatly improved, but I remained as trapped as ever. I would think until convinced I was insane and then wonder how the illusion was so visceral.

  The face and voice of that stranger wracked me more than my existential crisis. They stuck in my head like a catchy tune. My asinine heart still fluttered at the thought of him. I wafted embarrassed and adrift. Loneliness filled me. I didn't have the luxury of sex for quite a while. My desire for male commercial actors proved my rampant libido. That was all that was happening.

  I imagined his strong hands wrapped around me. Images of his fingers touching my waist and thighs drove me wild. This had to be about sex. I refused to believe I spiraled out of control over the actual guy. I spent less than five minutes with him. He wouldn't even want to speak to me if we met again. I wouldn't want to if our situations reversed.

  There was a simple answer. I needed to get laid. This guy didn't have to be the one. Any halfway decent candidate would do. While that decision simplified things, it also complicated them. I envied bolder girls. I wished I was one of them, the type of girl who would go out and take what she wanted.

  I didn't have a problem with casual sex. The thought of a one-night stand sounded amazing. I lacked the confidence with myself to even attempt seduction. I imagined myself approaching him. I kissed him, pushed him down to the floor and... I never wanted to see him again, at least my sense of pride didn't.

  His naked body invaded my dreams without my permission. These left me more frustrated than anything else. I finished being the person who never demanded what I wanted. There had to be a distraction for me. An idea struck. I went to a website with listings for all different things. I went to the personal ads and selected "random meetups". I typed out an ad.

  I'm 26. I'm attractive, brunette, lots of tits and ass with a small waist. What I want is simple. I'm shy, single, and need to get laid. I would go to a bar and find someone but that's not my style. Seeking a man 25-40 fit, attractive, and able to get the job done right. If I have to do this twice I will die of embarrassment.

  You must be willing to chat and exchange pictures. I need some proof you are who you say. I'm not looking to date you or look inside your soul. I want to make sure you're not a creep before I invite you over for some casual and very hot sex.

  -Tired of Waiting

  I read the words over once before posting. I tried to detach myself from them, so I wouldn't lose my nerve. My heart raced in my chest. I didn't know what I thought would happen. The way my body reacted you would think a timer on a bomb counted down. I sat in front of the computer for about an hour. I flipped through different websites and checked my email. No bites yet.

  Over the next two weeks I received around a thousand messages. Seventy five percent of them contained pictures of penises. The number of what I considered real replies surprised me. These included a self-description with some specific details about the ad. A few even included a picture sans penis. People pouring their hearts out to a stranger made me sad. Loneliness ran rampant. I shared communion with these lonely horny souls.

  Some people would have hated sifting through them all. They would have considered being bombarded like this harassment. I didn't mind the process one bit. I found myself deriving the same pleasure I do for all meaningless things. My inbox became the city hall basement for loneliness. I didn't regret my decision. Everything was anonymous.

  A few emails I got telling me about having self-respect made me uncomfortable. They came from the type of men that search those kinds of forum and claim they have noble reasons. Even though they're only interested in fucking someone who isn't their wife. I got about ten of those emails. They sounded so similar I wondered if they worked from some asshole template. No one said anything that warranted discourse. I ignored them.

  I wanted to take up crocheting for a long time and never did. I told a few of the women at work about my interest. They assured me they would teach me at lunch if I wanted. I had nothing to lose and spent a day sitting with them on occasion. I didn't excel at crochet and I didn't have an easy time making conversation. Still, I wanted to be nice, to act happy and be sociable.

  When I got home from work I sorted through the results of my priapic pursuit. They all seemed too fake, too this, too that. None of the soli
tary penises struck me enough that I needed to reach out to their owners. I didn't respond to any of them. I resigned myself to the fact that this was an interesting experiment and nothing more. Until, I saw the subject line of one email the subject line read "If you were brave..." I clicked it open.

  And this was a bar, what drink should I buy you?

  -Able to do any job right

  My heart raced in my chest. The intensity of the sensation shocked me. My hands touched the keys, typing my first reply.

  Who said I'm not brave? Tequila shot, please.

  I sent the message, electric. He might not answer. He might be 14 or a murderer. I told myself not to get too excited. I never followed my own good advice. I kept sorting through the rest, paying little if any attention to their content. A notification alerted me to a new email.

  Then why are you trying to fuck an internet stranger? That is if you are as brave and as attractive as you say.

  The words stared at my me with accusation. I tried to type, but no ideas came to. He was right that I didn't consider myself that attractive. I didn't think that mattered. I never thought I would need more than a nude to convince some guy to sleep with me. What kind of a creep was he? A normal guy would have asked for a picture. I did not expect a verbal request to defend my attractiveness.

  What was wrong with me? Why would I do this? I sat staring at the screen with no answers for either of us.

  3

  A few weeks passed, and I grew quite used to things once again. I was bored, and I needed something to spice my life up. I had a lot of ideas about what that might entail. The reality was I was boring. I liked arts and craft, and other hand-made kitschy things like that.

  I decided to make a scrap book out of the emails I received from my ad. That was the best idea I had for them My soulmate didn't wander among the army of erect penises marching through my inbox. Still, most of them had been hilarious in their own way. I would like to have something to flip through to remember the experience. The book would serve as proof that I had been daring, even if only for a moment, even if only online.