I am sat in a room. It is a plain, nondescript sort of room with beige coloured walls and biege coloured carpets; no pictures, no posters, no windows, no (other) colour, no life.
My chair is one of those in a large circle in the middle of the otherwise empty room. My co-sitters are all women, dressed in exactly the same outfit - dark grey blouse, black trousers, black socks, black shoes - with identical features and identical eyes (brown) and identical hair (also brown) cut and styled in an identical way.
I, with my blond hair and blue eyes, red blouse and black skirt over red tights, look starkly out of place. But that's okay. After all, everybody is different.
...Well, not these girls, obviously. But other than that, everybody is different...
We sit for a few minutes before a man comes in through a door in the corner; the only thing that breaks the monotony of beige from one end of the room to another. The man is tall with black hair and olive coloured skin. He is dressed entirely in white.
He smiles at us. Taking the sole free chair in the circle, he moves it into the middle, setting himself apart. Then he introduces himself. His name is Matthew - "please, call me 'Matt', okay?" - and he is going to be conducting the group interview that we have been invited to attend that day.
To begin; he asks us all our names in turn, requesting that we state our ages as well. I am discomfited to find that I am the eldest, at 31. Everybody else is in their twenties; 26 to be exact. The voices of the other girls, like their appearance and dress, are monotone and sound exactly the same. Only the names are different.
It proceeds from there as one might expect from a group interview, with a series of allegedly informal and random questions ('just for fun!') asked to each of us in turn. Matt listens to our answers carefully, occasionally making notes on a clipboard. I am, while not fully at ease - I have always hated group interviews, despite the fact that 5 out of 6 of them have led to success (and the sixth was due to the job being not as advertised, rather than anything I did) - confident that I am making a good impression.
I generally do,
To start, I have an aura of 'niceness' that people are drawn to; my rosy, smiling face puts people looking at me at ease. This in turn is backed up by the way I naturally speak, which pegs me as educated, but not smugly so, while at the same time reassuringly polite and respectful. Then, to crown it off; my vivid and colourful imagination comes in handy, setting my answers to the seemingly-pointless-but-actually-cleverly-revealing questions apart, showing me to be a quick and independent thinker.
...Another 'fun' question, another good answer when the turn to reply reaches me that Matt smiles at approvingly as he continues to scribble on his clipboard. Inwardly, I nod to myself, pleased.
This is good.
Things are going well.
...Then, Matt turns his attention away from the group as a whole and directs it straight upon me.
"Now, Alice," he says, shifting position in his chair and crossing his legs; "a question just for you."
Another inward nod. I have seen this before. The interviewer picks a few people out of the crowd to direct a snap question to, to see how the individual will react. Due to what a friend has delightfully described as my "magnetic people puller face", I am nearly always one of those picked on, and my answer has never failed me yet.
So, I smile and nod; ready, and Matt smiles and nods back; also ready, fixing me with his unnerving and level stare before he starts speaking again.
"I was just wondering; what gives you the right to sit here amongst these fine, upstanding people, as though you had even the slightest prayer of getting this job," noting my taken-aback expression, his mouth twitches in satisfaction as he continues; "I mean, really, you seem nice and everything, and you're obviously intelligent, but honestly; it takes a certain kind of person to work as an Administrator, and you, my lovely, are most definitely not it. The other people here are, but you are not. Because the other people here - these fine, upstanding people - are not employed as a cleaner."
Cue: a large gasp from each person uttered at the same time.
The girls turn to look at me with identically shocked, horrified and disgusted expressions on their identical faces. Then, in unison, they each lift their right hand to point at me as they begin to chant, in unison, in their low, monotone voices:
"Cleaner, cleaner,! Doesn't belong, doesn't belong! Cleaner, cleaner! Doesn't belong, doesn't belong!"
...And so it goes on.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
As the chanting continues, I sigh a resigned sigh, and turn to the nearest chanter to say:
"You know, I know this is a nightmare and so it isn't real, but I really don't like this at all."
...And then, I wake up.
Alice x
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