Orange Blouse

She was wearing that orange blouse again. The exact colour is burnt orange and it’s a silky material, not silk though, probably rayon and/or another synthetic fabric because it didn’t fall like the real deal. She stepped heavy so it was hard to miss her; you could hear those pointy steps a mile off. She was jittery too, always moving as if she couldn’t control it. She is only in the office a few days a week. Other days, she works out of her base down south somewhere. When she is here, she stumps around on our raised floors making more than a bit of a racket.

‘Why does she wear those really pointy shoes if she steps so heavy?’

‘I know right, she could do herself and our floors a lot of damage.’

‘Doesn’t matter, we’re out of here before the end of the year, she can dig holes in the carpets if she so pleases.’

‘She better not dig holes in the new carpet though, can’t imagine that will go down too well.’

She favoured the silky range of blouses and always wore something in that vein. Even when she dressed down in jeans, her top was glossy. Whenever she worked here, she used one of the offices in the far end, she would stomp past us all the way down the long corridor and disappear into the end room which wasn’t used otherwise. The one of the left overlooking the church across the road had remained empty since the last occupant left under a bit of a cloud, no one ever used that one, as though they didn’t want the same fate to befall them.

‘Morning Alex, can I have a word when you’ve got five minutes?’ someone calls out to her.

‘No worries…’

There is no particular expression on her face and her long dark brown hair falls just above her shoulders in no specific fashion. It isn’t styled or shaped, there are no highlights and she never wears it in a bun. What does she do around here exactly?

‘She runs the show.’ Was the only answer offered. What show? One could be forgiven for thinking this was a circus so maybe she is the booking agent, surely not the circus master, that would be Kirk, complete with top hat and tails (might as well with his scraggly hair and colourful jumpers). It wasn’t that bad really, besides, what organisation doesn’t have some element of spectacle? The other day at one of the cake laced gatherings where nothing was said to the masses, she loomed at the back with the team, unable to be inconspicuous because of her constant movement. All you could see was florescent light flashing off her orange blouse. She seemed a little nervous, or was she on edge? The head honcho was waxing lyrical about nothing in particular, at the end of which he opened the floor for questions. If not for the cakes provided to lure us into the meeting hall, the entire exercise would have been a waste of time as none of the questions were answered properly.

‘When are the clowns going to stop wearing red noses, it is 2018, we need to move with the times?’

After much fumbling and stumbling by the head honcho, Alex piped up from where she stood, her voice stomped like her gait.

‘All the clowns have been made aware of the new designs being rolled out and they will continue to form part of the solution.’ She was a confident bull-shitter, is there any other kind though? The person who asked the question pointed out that as one of the worker clowns, he had no idea what Alex was referring, head honcho to the rescue. As he spoke, all that could be heard was the music of the can-can. Alex agreed with whatever he said. It was almost three in the afternoon, are we done here yet? The head asked for any more questions, Alex moved around even more than normal, sparks flying off her blouse.

‘Alright then, thanks for coming and I am off to my next act.’

Everyone shuffled back to their desks, with more questions than they had before the gathering. As matters were discussed over cups of tea made to wash down the copious amount of cake eaten out of sheer boredom and duty, the sound of heavy stomping came ever closer but people nattered on, her bark, much like her stomp, was worse than her bite. As she came into view, she either didn’t see or chose to ignore the gathering, walking past headed for the office at the far end. We knew she was out of earshot when the door slammed behind her.