(Source: katjanotsocute)
The Not So Secret Diary of a Work Experience Girl Part Two
The Sale.
Think crepuscular winged insects with a stout body and feathery or hairlike antennae that are unabashedly lured towards a delicious open flame, think Boxing Day sales circa December 1999, think the King of the Jungle on a vehement pursuit for meaty prey - if you were to substitute the prey with trashtastic nail polish, metallic eye-shadows guaranteed to induce aluminium poisoning in 25 years, Reece Witherspoon’s hilariously lackluster inspirational fragrance line from 2011 and a plethora of anti-ageing creams, serums, powders and peels.
Shrieks of mass hysteria fill the office at precisely 12:17pm.
I look up from the desk adjacent from the quiet and contemplative Features Editor and raise an ear in the general direction of the commotion. The clip clop of ill-fitting wedges, flip flop of grandiose sandals and pitter patter of teetering stilettos pass my working cubicle as I stare furrow-browed at every single employee that chooses to ignore my presence as they zoom by, excited, ignorant and determined.
I wait, and I wonder something along the lines of ‘What The Fuck?’ That is, until one of my own kind, my own experiential and learned breed, Intern #2 meanders over to my desk and asks,
Are you coming to suss out the sale?
What sale?
All of the hair, beauty, nail and perfume samples that the editors get sent, they sell to us cheap.
Donald Trump eat your heart out.
I know, right? Come on.
I go. I look. I peer over the shoulders of animated employees from office levels above and below, people from advertising, from editorial, from art direction which - for those playing at home is now obscurely and wankily titled “Creative Promotions” just to confuse anyone and everyone requesting the art department however I digress - Everyone loves a bargain right?
A special edition Clinique smokey black eye liner, a watermelon MAC lip gloss, Lancome berry lipstain and 17 dollars later it appears so do I at least, in theory. I return to my desk, befuddled, bemused and bizarrely unsatisfied. I thought I liked to dabble in vanity and superficiality? No more than 17 dollars worth in comparison to others 50 and 80 dollar purchases which they are sure to re-gift no doubt.
So that is what I spent 40 minutes setting up, sorting out and displaying all these items for this morning. The sale.
And like the dedicated check-out-chick that I am, I packed all left over items away again, unsorted and slapdash as requested by my superior.
It is a good thing I am not OCD.
Felling any foe with my gaze
Steadily emerging with grace
