THE WHOLE THING was asinine.

People were going to be kicked out because they couldn't afford required grooming materials that - in all fairness - should be given to them by the Company because they were required. Bullshit. Anything required should be provided by the company. Something had to be done, or good people would be cut. That wasn't fair.

Since I'm all about fair, I marched to the management offices. It was virtually empty, except for Hector, the gnome man who did my uniform fitting during the interview. He was in his cubicle, working on his computer.

I stuck my head in. "Hola, amigo. ¿Qué tal?"

"Qué tal yourself, Big Red," he said as he glanced over at me. "How's training?"

"Confusing," I took a seat by his desk. "I am confused."

He sat back and gave me his undivided attention. "Alrighty then. How may I help clear up this confusion?"

"Well, it's like this, Hector. I believe in merit. I think people should be employed if they display merit."

He nodded. "I agree. I think merit is important."

"I also don't think merit is being about to buy $450 worth of Clarins shit."

"I concur."

"Further, I fail to understand how having the means to buy $450 worth of Clarins make up is related to the skillset needed to be able to complete the actual job requirements."

"Ah. I see. If it's any consolation, I agree that the requirement to purchase $450 worth of Clarins is not related to being a flight attendant." He turned back to the computer. "But it's required, so do it."

"You realize you're going to lose three-quarters of the class because they don't have the means to purchase these items?" I studied him closely. "Is it fair to deny opportunity to an individual because, at this stage in their lives, they don't have the money to purchase a $150 hairbrush?"

He shifted in his chair uncomfortably. "No, but there's nothing that can be done about it."

And then I knew what I had to do. It was perfect. I leaned forward conspiratorially. "Hector. If I ask something from you, will you get me fired?"

"Depends on what you ask."

"Can you get me everyone's hair and makeup prescription and email it to me?'

Now it was his turn to study me back. "Why would you need everyone's hair and makeup prescription?"

"No reason." I waved my hand. "No reason at all."

He studied me a few seconds longer, smiled, and turned to his computer. A few keystrokes later, and my cellphone chimed an email notification. "This didn't happen," he told me.

"Doesn't the Company track email?"

"I sent it from Christophe's Outlook."

I raised an eyebrow. He shrugged.

"Fucker dumped me. It's my get back."

I stood up. "Well then, I really need to go to lunch. When are you going to be teaching us?"

"A couple of weeks. Security training. Try not to kicked out before then. I'm looking forward to kicking you out myself."

"Oh, I don't know Hector, I look awesome in the TransGlobal bun." I patted it carefully. "

"Get out, Red." He waved dismissively. "Get out. Go eat lunch. Scarf tying is coming up next. You'll need your energy."

I blew him a kiss in reply and headed out towards the courtyard. People were meandering around from different offices - we were encouraged to mingle during these times because TransGlobal liked the idea that Wall Street saw how attractive its recruits were - so it was a challenge to find a secluded spot.

I ended up going to the ladies room. I sat in a stall and scrolled through my contacts, going back and forth, until I decided to call my Macy's personal shopper. We don't shop Macy's much, so she'd be hungry.

"Hi, Mrs. Cosetino," she answered, practically salivating through the phone. She knows me as Mrs. Cosetino, which is fine, because I will be Mrs. Cosetino in a few weeks. "How may I help you?"

"I'm sending you an order," I told her as I forwarded the email. "I want you package and mark each group of items individually by name. Then I want you to send the entire order to the TransGlobal Training Academy at 4 World Trade Center plaza. Send the bill to my husband. I need this order at TransGlobal by 3 pm sharp."

"Yes, m'am. I've got the email, and I'm opening it now." She paused. "Oh my...oh my...I don't know if we have all this in stock - "

"Oh, okay," I told her. "Disregard. I'll call Bloomingdales."

"No, no, it's fine...we'll find it, by 3 pm."

"Delivered by 3 pm. Not found by 3 pm, delivered by 3 pm. If it's not delivered by 3 pm, then, well, you don't want to know."

"It'll be there," she assured me and hung up.

It'd better be. I don't like being all mean to working people, but I also don't like to be disappointed. Besides, she had 2 hours. That should be plenty of time. I almost put my phone in purse, but remembered Special Agent Jason Donnelly.

I had some time, so I called the New York Field Office of the FBI. The operator informed me that there was no one by that name in the directory. I told them to look again, but she insisted. I hung up, mystified.

What did they mean that there was no one listed by the name Jason Donnelly? Where was my special agent? How was the government supposed to keep track of me without him? Donnelly had been keeping track of me of me for over a year now. He'd even followed me from Chicago to New York. Damn, I missed that jack-booted, Constitutional rights infringing pig.

So I called the Chicago Field Office. Maybe he got sent back home. Once again, I got told the same thing. There was no one named Jason Donnelly. Where'd he go? Why'd he leave without saying goodbye?

Listlessly I left the bathroom and walked into the Corporate Cafe, where I grabbed a protein shake for lunch. Then I joined Frances, Valentina, and Jorge at a table by the door.

"Did you know that we have to buy all that Clarins crap?" Frances asked as I sat down. "Nice hair, by the way."

She had her hair in the TransGlobal bun the same as mine. I thanked her and said that I was aware of the purchase requirement as I opened my drink.

Jorge sniffed. "It's fine for me," he lisped. "I already use Clarins."

"Of course you do," I said to him. "Why wouldn't you already use Clarins?"

He scowled at me. Jorge's all about the scowl. I wondered how he was going to pass the class on smiling.

"Che, I love this lipstick!" Valentina interjected, showing it to me. "It's so rich and creamy. I'm using Clarins from now on!"

"Can you afford to buy all this crap?" I asked her.

She nodded and smiled. "The government's paying for everything."

Frances and I stared at her.

"What?" I asked. "What do you mean, the government's paying for you?"

"For TranGlobal to fly into my country, they have to hire a certain number of our citizens," she explained. "Now that I'm here, Argentina's paying for me." She smiled happily. "Isn't that wonderful?"

"Government subsidized plastic surgery and they get training paid for?" Frances sighed. "I wish I was Argentine."

Valentina nodded solemnly. "Everybody does."

"Is this the same for you?" I asked Jorge.

He scowled at me. "Si," he replied curtly and said something in Spanish to Valentina, who giggled in reply.

I looked over Jorge's shoulder. Sitting a few tables over were the two girls I'd previously met, along with a tableful of others much like them. They were all so downcast there should be a gray cloud hovering about them.

I got up from my table and walked over. "Hi. I'm Siobhan," I said as I took a seat. "I don't think I've met all of you."

My greeting was met with an unenthusiastic hi. Whether it was me or their impending termination that led to such a lukewarm reception, I could not say. So I broke the ice by asking how they liked New York.

It took a few minutes, but soon I had them all chatting about their own individual adventures, like trying to avoid touching anything on the subway and figuring out the regular coffee here actually meant coffee with cream and two sugars. They were cute, funny, and goofy sweet. I could see no reason why they wouldn't make decent employees. I'd even managed to pull the from their funk for a few minutes, at least until the bell rang for us to return to class. The cloud of despair magically reappeared over their heads.

"I still think we should just go home to pack," said one of the girls I'd met in the restroom, her tone hopeless and despondent. "There's no reason to stay."

"Hold out," I told her. "You never know what can happen."

We got back to the room where Frances was waiting at her seat. "What was that all about?"

"I met a few of them outside the restroom," I explained. "They're sweet. Not the most sophisticated bunch, but sweet."

"I'm sensing an egalitarian streak in you, Red."

"It's true," I agreed as I opened up the training manual. "I'm all about the people."

Class convened; for the next hour I was forced to feign enthusiasm as I learned the intricacies of proper packing and uniform care. Who knew there was enough information here to have an entire class on it? Shocked the hell out of me.

At exactly 3 pm, when we were in the midst of learning how to tie a hijab when a security guard stuck his head in. "Pardon, but there's a delivery here."

"Delivery?" Our instructor looked confused. "What delivery?"

"It's from Macy's," said the security guard. "I have instructions to bring it up."

I smiled. So my Macy's personal shopper was going to keep her job. Good for her.

The security guard wheeled in two large boxes and opened them. Our instructor stood by and pulled out a smaller, beautifully wrapped box. She opened the attached card and read the name out loud. "Krystal?"

One of the Midwestern girls jumped up and ran over. She carefully opened it up and pulled out a Mason Pearson brush. "Oh my gosh," she exclaimed. "Oh my gosh!"

"It looks like there's one for everybody," noted the instructor with a confused look on her face. "If you will pardon me for a minute. " She walked hurriedly out of the room.

I turned to Frances. "Let's pass these bad boys out!"

It took a few minutes, but soon everyone had a box full of required beauty products. I observed that the bathroom girls were crying again. So they were the type to cry not only when they were sad but also when they were happy. Never did get that myself.

"Miss McIver?"

I looked up. Our instructor was standing at the door. "Come with me, please."

Everyone was too busy playing with their stuff to notice. That is, everyone except Frances. "Well, Red. You lasted longer than I thought you would. See you around."

I picked up my purse, and handed her my gift box. "Here, keep it, give it away, I don't care."

"Give me a call sometime. Let's hang out."

"I don't have your phone number."

She handed me a card. "Here. Let's be friends."

I stuck the card in my purse and followed the instructor down the hall and into the management area. We passed all the cubicles until we reached the Director's office. "The Director would like to speak to you," she said, a schadenfreude look on her face.

I'll bet. I thanked her and walked on in.

The Director was working on her computer. "Miss McIver. Have a seat."

I sat and looked around. It was a nice office. Not McIver Firm office nice, but still, nice enough. I saw she had tons of pictures on a credenza. Apparently the Director had a large, extended family.

She finished working on the computer, then turned to me. "Do know what insubordination is?"

I put on my puzzled face. "Insubordin...what?"

"Insubordination," she repeated. "It means willfully doing something you've been instructed to not do." She pursed her lips. "Do you think that you've been insubordinate today?"

I thought about it. "No."

"So you don't think that anything you've done today could be considered insubordinate?"

"No. I do not."

She leaned back in her chair. "Miss McIver, here at TransGlobal, we have a preferred type of employee. Superficially, you're that type of employee. Young, beautiful, and rich. This way, we have a high turnover, consistent grooming standards, and we keep the unions out."

"Does that make sense?" I asked. "Are rich people truly interested in a service job?"

"It is not wise to be flip." She leaned forward. "This is our policy. Part of our training strategy is dedicated to weeding out those potential employees who may not have the financial means to pursue this career."

"Why do you need money to be a flight attendant?" I persisted. "It doesn't make sense."

Her lips thinned. "Do you realize that your actions today thwarted that part of our recruitment plan?"

I nearly smiled. She phrased it as a question, not as a statement. They're not sure it's me. Instead, I looked confused. "What's thwarted mean?"

"Miss McIver," she huffed, "did you buy the makeup?"

"No."

"Are you lying?"

"No."

"You realize, that by saying no now, if I later discover you have, in fact, purchased these items, I will have no choice but to fire you for falsification or misrepresentation of facts."

I put on my face of innocence."I don't know what you're talking about."

Silence fell. She looked so angry that for a moment I thought her hair might burst into flames. "I should fire you."

I held my breath. I didn't want to get fired. At least, not yet.

"But I'm not going to."

I exhaled.

"I know you did it, McIver. I know you did it, and it was a damned decent thing to do." She pushed her glasses up her nose. "It's ridiculous enough that we force people to buy this crap. I end up losing half of a training class because of it, and I'm tired of it."

I smiled.

"We're down on numbers as it is," she continued, ignoring me, "and I as much as I try to explain that rich girls aren't going to apply because they're rich girls, I get ignored and dismissed." She rolled her eyes. "Stupid MBA fucks with their business models. I want to shove their business model up their ass, you know?"

I sat still. It was a dumb ass business model, but it was best she didn't know I understood what she was saying.

She waved her hand. "Go back to class. Get out. If I found out you did it, I will fire you."

I smiled, stood up, and ran from the room before she could change her mind.

I was still employed. How about that? I was still employed. I carefully opened the classroom door and took my seat.

Not that my stealth did any good. Frances blatantly turned and stared at me.

"How are you still here?" she whispered.

"Why wouldn't I still be here?"

"You sent those boxes, didn't you?"

I studied my nails. "What boxes?"

She smirked at me. "You know, Red, you're a softie, aren't you?"

"No." I studied my nails. "Pfft. I don't even know what you're talking about. Me? A softie? Girl, you don't even know."

"Uh huh." Her smirk grew even smirkier. "Underneath all that hair, you're a good person, aren't you."

I pointed at our instructor. "Shh. We're talking about how to tie a scarf. Eyes up front."

Anyway, after class Alex was curbside, waiting for me, a pleasant smile on his face. Great. I was in trouble.

Frances took on look at Alex and stumbled to a stop. "That's your man? Damn. I bet you two have amazing sex... hey, bitches. Wait up." She dashed after Chelsea and Valentina. "Bitches. You got my keys... you think I don't know you got my keys?"

He had to hear that, but so what? I moseyed up to him, a smile on my face. "Hey."

"Hey." He kissed my cheek and opened the door for me. I slid inside.

Once he was inside he dropped the smile. "What's up with the $20,000 Macy's bill?"

I sighed. "It's a long story."

_____ * _____ * _____ * _____ * _____

Siobhan saves the day... or at least Alex's money did. Sometimes having a rich boyfriend is a good thing. Except when it's not.

Thank you so much for taking time to read Siobhan's story! I look forward to your comments, and if you liked it, please remember to vote!

©Copyright Liz Charnes May 2018

This work is protected by copyright and cannot be copied or used in any way without my express consent. Please don't steal it. Thank you!