I had just finished my interview at C-Corp, it wasn't some where I particularly wanted to work for the rest of my life, but I felt it went well.
I was wearing my red suit, which was a risky thing to do.
Elaine, my flat mate, had told me to opt for the blue pinstripe trouser-suit, just to appear, approachable.
But against her advice I'd gone for the red fitted jacket and pencil skirt, with some tan tights and black kitten heels.
I thought I screamed "In command, professional, promising."
That was when I got on the bus this morning.

Now, with the water mark down my right lapelle and a ladder in my elegant tan tights, I thought I screamed "Tart, trampy, dominatrix mess." Which wasn't the impression anyone wants a first employer to have of you.

I made my way to the elevator that had brought me up to the 39th floor at C-Corp, and there were at least 100 people in the before empty corridors, all wandering around casually on their lunch.

A man was waiting for the lift in front of me, late twenties I'd say, mid twenties if the cigarette carton he was tapping on his thigh was anything to go by. He was dressed in a suit that didn't match, the jacket was blue and the trousers were black, both with different size pin stripes adorning them.
I smiled politely, as you do. And we waited for the lift in silence.

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