“I’m Mr Roberts,” he said. “Robert Roberts.”
“Robert Roberts?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
I was smiling, which was fine. But I had to stifle a laugh.
“You can call me Bob.”
“That might be easier,” I said.
But there was really no need to worry. Everything was going well. I was able to handle the questions and give examples of my experience in answering phones, dealing with the public (most recently in my camming work which I obviously didn’t mention), dealing with emails and spreadsheets and so on.
“Well you seem to have all the credentials,” he said, glancing at my tanned nylon thighs. My pencil skirt was a bit tight and had ridden up to reveal a glimpse of stocking top.
Mr Roberts coughed nervously.
“Well, there’s just one or two other points… You forgot to tick the gender box on your application…”
Oh, here we go, this is awkward, I thought. I’d left it blank on purpose as there was no Other option.
“I’ll just fill that in for you, shall I?”
“Yes, of course, Bob.”
“There we go… F… And one more thing… If you do get the job… And between me and I don’t see any reason why you won’t… You’re very smartly dressed if you don’t mind me saying. Is that something you can keep up. Skirt, heels, that kind of professional look?.”
He leaned towards me over the top of his screen to ogle my legs again. I think he had something he wanted to keep up but I said, “Rather than trousers or flat shoes you mean?”
“Exactly.”
I’d worked as a flight attendant before (that’s another story) so I could manage that.
“We’ve got a corporate image to live up to, you understand?”
Well, glancing around the shabby office with a coffee-stained desk and a waste paper basket brimming with used tissues, ‘corporate’ is not the word I’d have used. But who was I to argue?
“No problem, Mr Roberts.”
“Good, I think we get each other… How soon can you start?”
|
