survivorofhatred
May 18th, 2010, 01:39 PM
Hey! I wrote this story for a school project. Let me know if you like it.
When our wrists will read like resumes
Ainslie was exactly where she wanted to be. After years of studying, dreaming, and spending around $74,000 at Queen’s University, she was here. Unsure what to do in the eerie silence, she smoothed the wrinkles on her new skirt. She felt uncomfortable with the fact that the lady in front of her was judging her solely based on a single piece of paper; her resume.
Chloe Montgomery, the head editor of HarperCollins publishing, finally looked up. She pulled her glasses down to the end of her nose, and looked Ainslie up and down. Ainslie instantly regretted not making a mad dash to the bathroom to check her hair before the interview. Shit. Did I even shave my legs, she thought in a panic.
She guessed that Chloe Montgomery was around fifty years old. That was a given since she had peppered grey hair that hung just down to her shoulders. Ainslie admired her obvious confidence that came with aging gracefully without the aid of hair dyes or anti-wrinkle creams. Her opting for the natural look gave her the impression that this woman was wise, self-secure, and powerful. She made a mental note to let her age come naturally once she noticed her first grey hair—which she didn’t expect to come soon since she was only twenty-three.
It took Ainslie a moment to realize that she was actually staring at her arms with a sad look in her eyes that never wavered. That made Ainslie turn ice cold. How could she have forgotten to put on cover-up on the biggest day of her life?
“You used to cut yourself, didn’t you?”
“Excuse me?” Ainslie was appalled. How was she supposed to answer that? This was possibly one of the most important people she’d ever meet in her life. You don’t talk about that sort of stuff with your dream boss. Her heart sunk. She wouldn’t even be given the chance to finish the interview because she already screwed it up. No one wanted to hire a girl with an emo teenaged past.
“Oh, just answer the question. It’s not like you made an effort to hide the damn things.” That made Ainslie’s eyes widen in horror. She didn’t know whether to be offended or to cry.
“Well, pretty much everyone cuts, Miss. Montgomery…”
“So you just followed the crowd?”
“Wait, what? Um… no? I had my own reasons. I’m just—”
“Pointing out the obvious.” Chloe Montgomery placed the resume into a file folder and folded her hands in her lap. She leaned back into her chair and took a sip of her Starbucks concoction. “Okay, if you didn’t just join the trend, what made you start?”
Ainslie didn’t want to get into it but she wasn’t going to totally disrespect the lady she wished to be in thirty years.
“Okay… Well, to be honest, I was never taught anything else… My mom used to do it and she was the one who introduced it to me. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t like she was teaching me how to do it. She was just answering my questions. You know, ‘why does your arm look like that?’ I guess I just took it the wrong way and thought that it was the only thing to do.”
“That’s really such a shame… You would’ve thought that with this becoming such an epidemic, teachers would’ve stepped up and showed an alternative. But no, we’ve got Degrassi teaching our kids instead of the parents…”
“That’s not true…” She tried to hide the fact that she didn’t even know what Degrassi was. It sounded like a water company and she was sure that that wasn’t what Montgomery was talking about. She continued, “Every one of my friends did it. People still do. It’s not like you can stop it. It’s something every kid has to go through, I guess. Teachers don’t really care. Either that, or they realize that there’s nothing they can do.”
At that, Montgomery raised her eyebrows and then proceded to chuckled in a mocking tone. “Well if you believe that, then you might as well leave. Actually, I’d prefer if you did. I have no tolerance for people with your attitude.” She retrieved Ainslie’s resume from the file and folded it in two. She then tossed it into the recycling bin before turning to her iPad.
Ainslie felt like something was caught in her throat. She couldn’t get her legs to cooperate. Did that really just happen? What kind of bullshit interview was that? “Wh..what? What do you mean?”
“What do I mean?” She laughed. “It’s people like you who are just letting these kids die. What’s wrong with you? You have cuts on your wrist and you don’t even care?”
“It’s not that I don’t care—”
“No honey, you don’t care. If you did—if this really affected you, you would do something about it,” she continued, her voice rising. “Do you not hear the numbers on the news? Does it not affect you, Ainslie? 1.5 million teens die every year from anorexia, bulimia, cutting, suicide, burning, the list goes on. Your peers are dying from depression.” She looked at her and then the door, tapping her fingers against her desk.
Ainslie could take a hint. She took a deep breath and grabbed her purse off the floor. She swung it over her shoulder as she stood up from her chair. Just as she reached for the doorknob, Montgomery stood up and spoke. “Honey, you need to replace your apathy with some passion. You need to know why you do things and you need to question yourself and the people around you. You need to question everything. You need to ask yourself why seven years olds are killing themselves when their lives haven’t even started… When you want to do something about this, let me know. As for now, you’re free to leave.”
Ainslie opened the door and tried not to slam it behind her. She was so pissed off and she couldn’t even pinpoint why. Maybe it was because her interview was bullshit or maybe it was because Montgomery was a bitch. But something inside nagged at her, softly telling her that maybe Montgomery was right.
When our wrists will read like resumes
Ainslie was exactly where she wanted to be. After years of studying, dreaming, and spending around $74,000 at Queen’s University, she was here. Unsure what to do in the eerie silence, she smoothed the wrinkles on her new skirt. She felt uncomfortable with the fact that the lady in front of her was judging her solely based on a single piece of paper; her resume.
Chloe Montgomery, the head editor of HarperCollins publishing, finally looked up. She pulled her glasses down to the end of her nose, and looked Ainslie up and down. Ainslie instantly regretted not making a mad dash to the bathroom to check her hair before the interview. Shit. Did I even shave my legs, she thought in a panic.
She guessed that Chloe Montgomery was around fifty years old. That was a given since she had peppered grey hair that hung just down to her shoulders. Ainslie admired her obvious confidence that came with aging gracefully without the aid of hair dyes or anti-wrinkle creams. Her opting for the natural look gave her the impression that this woman was wise, self-secure, and powerful. She made a mental note to let her age come naturally once she noticed her first grey hair—which she didn’t expect to come soon since she was only twenty-three.
It took Ainslie a moment to realize that she was actually staring at her arms with a sad look in her eyes that never wavered. That made Ainslie turn ice cold. How could she have forgotten to put on cover-up on the biggest day of her life?
“You used to cut yourself, didn’t you?”
“Excuse me?” Ainslie was appalled. How was she supposed to answer that? This was possibly one of the most important people she’d ever meet in her life. You don’t talk about that sort of stuff with your dream boss. Her heart sunk. She wouldn’t even be given the chance to finish the interview because she already screwed it up. No one wanted to hire a girl with an emo teenaged past.
“Oh, just answer the question. It’s not like you made an effort to hide the damn things.” That made Ainslie’s eyes widen in horror. She didn’t know whether to be offended or to cry.
“Well, pretty much everyone cuts, Miss. Montgomery…”
“So you just followed the crowd?”
“Wait, what? Um… no? I had my own reasons. I’m just—”
“Pointing out the obvious.” Chloe Montgomery placed the resume into a file folder and folded her hands in her lap. She leaned back into her chair and took a sip of her Starbucks concoction. “Okay, if you didn’t just join the trend, what made you start?”
Ainslie didn’t want to get into it but she wasn’t going to totally disrespect the lady she wished to be in thirty years.
“Okay… Well, to be honest, I was never taught anything else… My mom used to do it and she was the one who introduced it to me. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t like she was teaching me how to do it. She was just answering my questions. You know, ‘why does your arm look like that?’ I guess I just took it the wrong way and thought that it was the only thing to do.”
“That’s really such a shame… You would’ve thought that with this becoming such an epidemic, teachers would’ve stepped up and showed an alternative. But no, we’ve got Degrassi teaching our kids instead of the parents…”
“That’s not true…” She tried to hide the fact that she didn’t even know what Degrassi was. It sounded like a water company and she was sure that that wasn’t what Montgomery was talking about. She continued, “Every one of my friends did it. People still do. It’s not like you can stop it. It’s something every kid has to go through, I guess. Teachers don’t really care. Either that, or they realize that there’s nothing they can do.”
At that, Montgomery raised her eyebrows and then proceded to chuckled in a mocking tone. “Well if you believe that, then you might as well leave. Actually, I’d prefer if you did. I have no tolerance for people with your attitude.” She retrieved Ainslie’s resume from the file and folded it in two. She then tossed it into the recycling bin before turning to her iPad.
Ainslie felt like something was caught in her throat. She couldn’t get her legs to cooperate. Did that really just happen? What kind of bullshit interview was that? “Wh..what? What do you mean?”
“What do I mean?” She laughed. “It’s people like you who are just letting these kids die. What’s wrong with you? You have cuts on your wrist and you don’t even care?”
“It’s not that I don’t care—”
“No honey, you don’t care. If you did—if this really affected you, you would do something about it,” she continued, her voice rising. “Do you not hear the numbers on the news? Does it not affect you, Ainslie? 1.5 million teens die every year from anorexia, bulimia, cutting, suicide, burning, the list goes on. Your peers are dying from depression.” She looked at her and then the door, tapping her fingers against her desk.
Ainslie could take a hint. She took a deep breath and grabbed her purse off the floor. She swung it over her shoulder as she stood up from her chair. Just as she reached for the doorknob, Montgomery stood up and spoke. “Honey, you need to replace your apathy with some passion. You need to know why you do things and you need to question yourself and the people around you. You need to question everything. You need to ask yourself why seven years olds are killing themselves when their lives haven’t even started… When you want to do something about this, let me know. As for now, you’re free to leave.”
Ainslie opened the door and tried not to slam it behind her. She was so pissed off and she couldn’t even pinpoint why. Maybe it was because her interview was bullshit or maybe it was because Montgomery was a bitch. But something inside nagged at her, softly telling her that maybe Montgomery was right.