Page 1 of Ignite
1
Alison
“They saythe men there are hot ashell.”
I glanced up, my ears pricking. Another water cooler gossip session was in full swing, and no surprises…I wasn’tincluded.
Opening the cupboard in the kitchenette, I took down a tin of instant coffee and tried not to let it get to me. To everyone in the office, I was just the weirdo, Alison Anders. Only valuable because I didn’t complain about beingoverworked.
“It’s completely illegal,” Susan said. Susan worked in my department and made it her life’s mission to belittle me. She had stringy brown hair, thin lips, and a sour personality. “They throw money around like it’sconfetti.”
“Would you go?” Fiona asked. She was one of the receptionists. Airy but not in an ethereal beauty kind of way. Airy as in there was a lot of vacant space in herbrain.
“No,” Susan replied, looking shocked. “They fight till they drop, I heard. It’sbarbaric!”
I rolled my eyes. It was always the same. Drama, hot guys, and moredrama.
How did I even gethere?
Three years ago, I was given the position of Customer Service Officer at a shipping company in the inner city suburb of Prahran in Melbourne. Things started off just fine. I turned up, learned the job, did my work, and I excelled. I was a good employee. I was never late. In fact, I was always early. Maybe that was why everyone hatedme.
I’d quickly become isolated, not having the guts to stand up to the bullies or to quit. I needed the job to pay my astronomical rent, and because I was living pay to pay, I didn’t have enough money to move. It was a catch-22.
So I put my head down and did my work, often ending up doing enough for two people, so I didn’t have to deal with the snide comments. I would empty out my email inbox by lunchtime, and like magic, another pile of tasks would be forwarded to me. It was like IT knew and had an alert set up on my manager’s computer. I never complained even though I usually went home in tears because ofstress.
I was pretty sure I was the definition of apushover.
“You don’t want to take a little walk on the wild side?” Fiona asked. “Have a one-night stand with a GreekGod?”
“A woman needs standards,” Susan replied with ahumphand flicked her hair. “Pashing a man covered in sweat and blood?Ew.”
“I bet you wouldn’t say that if you saw them,” Fiona declared. “My boyfriend’s mate Tony went there once and said it’s hardcore. The guys who fight are ripped. Forget six-packs…apparently, they’ve got eighteen-packs.”
I rolled my eyes again and turned back to the tin of instant coffee. Prying off the lid, I stared at the granules inside, my shoulders heavy. I didn’t care much about their topic of conversation, but I cared about being constantly excluded. I was so isolated in all parts of my life it was beyond ajoke.
I wasn’t exactly the life of the party, but I was interesting, wasn’t I? Even I was smart enough to know the answer to that question was a big, fatno.
“Hey, do you think Alison would go?” Susan asked, forcing the group to start giggling. She didn’t exactly keep her voice lowered, either. They knew I was listening. I always listened, pretending to be a part of something I was never invitedto.
“Alison at The Underground?” Fiona sniggered. “Fatchance.”
“Do you think she’s ever had sex?” Susanasked.
“Eww!”
Embarrassment seared through me, my cheeks flaring. I was far from a virgin, but how would they know? They didn’t even see past their own noses, let alone care enough to want to know who Iwas.
Dumping a teaspoon of coffee into my mug, I poured in some boiling water from the urn. As it filled, the liquid turning the color of tar, I sighed again. What did I ever do to thesepeople?
Looking down at myself, I could take a stab. For lack of a better word, I was frumpy. Frumpy, shy, overemotional, stressed…the list went on. I looked at the person I’d become, and I didn’t see one positive. Unlike the women who worked around me, I’d never been told I wasbeautiful.
My entire wardrobe was full of cheap skirts, scratchy polyester sweaters, and ill-fitting shirts that gaped over my breasts. My shoes looked like bricks, my chestnut hair was frizzy at best, my makeup was bland, and my hazel eyes were dull. I had no family, no friends, a job that was dragging me down, and no way out. My confidence was non-existent, and my spirit had died a long timeago.
Alison Anders was ashell.
Picking up my coffee, I went back to my desk, trying to ignore the sniggering at the water cooler. One of these days I was going to snap, and it wouldn’t be pretty. I would totally do aCarrieon them. The doors would slam shut, and body parts would fly. Or, more realistically, I would just gather up enough courage to finally tell them where to stick their shittyjob.
With my coffee warming my hands, I stared at my computer and began to wonder about this mysterious Underground the water cooler bitches were talkingabout.
