Beginnings Are A Pain

Andrew didn’t consider himself to be homophobic. In fact, he had always thought of himself as more of a liberal. He, in fact, had many gay and lesbian friends, and they had never bothered him in the least. Really, it wasn’t an all consuming hatred for him.

But this hot and humid Thursday found him at a hallway in a building in mid-Makati, staring with a mixture of revulsion and- well, more revulsion at the person (if it could be called that) sitting behind the desk.

THIS creature, this outrage, sniffing disdainfully, not even deigning to look at him, was simply, purely, completely wrong. From the top of his/her fried-to-a-crisp yellow hair to the wildly colored toenails that resembled a gangrene infection, in all their lavender-periwinkle-fuchsia glory, this creature was a visual insult, eye-torture, a walking migraine.

Panicking, Andrew jerked his gaze up to the brass letters mounted on the wall next to the door. Yes, he was at the right office. No doubt about that. He stepped forward reluctantly. The person didn’t even glance at him as he stepped inside the glass doors. Fighting his rising bile, he approached the desk like a Fear Factor Contestant would approach a covered platter.

“Excuse me?” He plastered a smile on his face and hoped it looked sincere. “I’m Andrew Diaz. I’m here for an interview for the interview about the Production Assistant gig. I’m scheduled for three pm with Miss Dahlia.” As he stared at the bent faux blonde curls, Andrew felt the noose that was his necktie tighten around his neck. He fought the urge to loosen it, and instead swallowed convulsively.

The creature slowly unwrapped its fingers around the pen it had been holding like a cigarette, tilted its head at a different angle, and then fished out a glitter-studded cell phone and began to text. Leisurely. As if he hadn’t said anything. Andrew waited a moment or two, politely, unable to decide whether or not the Great Blonde Sparkly Beast had heard him. After all, anyone who was so obviously colour blind might be deaf too. So he repeated the question, a little louder this time.

As if surprised by his insolence, the thing’s heavily mascara’d eyelashes fluttered up, giving him a baleful glare. “Wait.” It snapped in the forced falsetto of a drag queen. “I heard you the first time. Sit down. And wait till you’re called.”

Sheepishly Andrew retreated to the threadbare red couch and sat down, watching the creature text languidly on his cellphone, a frown creasing the overpowdered brows. Awkward, painful minutes ticked by, with the creature texting away until Andrew was seething impatiently. At this point he was seriously reconsidering not going through with the interview, if he had to work with such a blindingly decorated asshole.

Finally, a petite woman burst into the room, laden with shopping bags. She was dressed in a manner that unmistakably screamed BOSS, and walked with the confidence of an alpha male, even if she only came up to Andrew’s armpit. On her tiptoes.

The woman was a whirlwind, writing furiously on her PDA as she cursed at some poor soul on her cell phone, depositing the mountain of bags on the creature’s desk and walking into the wooden door into what Andrew presumed was her office. The door slammed shut yet he could still hear her furious rants through the walls. The creature gave a delicate shudder.

Now Andrew wanted out. He stood uncertainly, getting ready to leave. The thing calmly rearranged the shopping bags on his desk, blithely ignoring him. Suddenly a scream rang out from inside the room. “EMILY!!!”

He froze. The receptionist raised his head slowly, and fixed his glitter-encrusted eyes on Andrew. “Miss Dahlia is ready to see you now.” It informed him. Damn it. He had no escape now. Andrew nodded grimly and headed to the door. The thing went back to his cell phone, texting away.

Andrew opened the door slowly, and bit back a yelp as a Styrofoam cup of designer coffee hit him in the chest, splashing him in the face. “DAMN YOU, you idiot! EMILY, my coffee’s cold!” The woman was facing the window, not looking at him. “The stupid assistant gave me cold coffee. Son of a bitch. Not him, you! Why are the flyers late??! GEEZ, I’m surrounded by idiots! And the applicant I’m supposed to interview isn’t here. EMILY!” She was so angry she was red.

As it happened, the coffee wasn’t exactly cold. Andrew hissed from the burns that were undoubtedly on his face. The woman turned to face him and jumped. “WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?” She shrieked, brandishing her phone at him. “EEMILLLYY! WHO THE HELL IS THIS?”

The creature poked his head into the doorframe. “He’s the new applicant. Resume on your desk, Miss Dahlia.” There was a note of triumphant malice in his voice.

Andrew was afraid to open his mouth, because he knew that all that was going to come out was a whimper. Slowly he opened his eyes to see the woman eyeing him critically. “What’s your name, son?” She said, pursing her lips and scanning him from top to bottom.

“Oow- Andrew D-Diaz.” He tried to squeeze out his name minus the unmanly squeals of agony that he knew were lurking in his throat. She handed him one of those expensive thick paper towels, still watching him like a mother hen. But her smile was razor sharp. “I’m Miss Dahlia. Head to the clinic, son. And report back here in 20. You’re my new assistant.”

Andrew felt only three things at that moment: the burning pain on his face and neck, Miss Dahlia’s cold scrutiny, and the boiling fury of the creature he now knew as Emily, seething from behind him.

Andrew winced as he trudged up the stairs to his brand new office, on the second day of his new job. The elevator was down (and apparently this was a common thing, from the foot traffic on the stairs) and he was rapidly approaching the halfway point of his 8-floor ascension.

Thankfully, the burns on his face weren’t so bad, though he was still too tender to shave his face, and his mother had been scandalized. (“I don’t have a werewolf son! What kind of an employee are you, showing up hairy and burnt!?” Had been her exact words.)

When he bent over and stopped for breath, he heard the clack of stiletto heels beside him and realized that a gorgeous woman had stopped next to him. Andrew glanced up, red faced, at a sweet-faced but heavily made up girl who waited patiently for him to look up.

“Hi! I’m Imelda.” She chirped, sticking her hand out. Andrew held out a shaking hand and missed, but he got it on the second try.

“Ahhhndrew.” He wheezed out, suddenly conscious of the sweat spots on his armpits. She smiled sympathetically and patted his back. She wasn’t even winded, just a little bit flushed.

“You get used to the climb. Haha. It’s a literal corporate ladder around here. Complete with snakes. Are you Miss D’s new assistant? I hear she got you good yesterday.” She flashed another blinding grin and bent down to adjust her shoe strap, offering him a view of her boobs. Panicking, Andrew rolled his eyes upward abruptly.

“Er- Miss Dahlia. Yes. I’m her new slave.” He began counting the cracks in the ceiling, when a thought occurred to him. “Is Emily- a he, or a she?” Imelda pouted prettily. “God. I’m not sure, I always get blinded by the bling bling before I get close enough to check.” They shared a laugh, then started again.

“Are you sure you want to work with us?” She chirped after a minute. “I mean, we’re a fun place to work and all, really, we are, but it gets crazy.” Imelda lapsed into a thoughtful silence and then flashed him another grin. “But I’m not about to scare you away. We rarely get sane people in this ward of the mental hospital.”

Andrew blinked, unsure how to react. “Er- Okay.” They reached the landing of the eighth floor and he held the door open to her. “This is a real crazy place. “ She said, passing him with a pat on the cheek. “Welcome to the loony bin. You’re kinda cute, I really hope you last here.”

Word count= 1,404 / 50,000
Words to go= 48,596