for @rapscallicns || (philip.)
There was a certain way that people carried themselves that got Trina’s attention immediately. Of course, it was an intentional act. The head held high, the nice clothes, good posture, and a stride that said move out of the way.
Trina did not understand those people. Despite her internal grievance with the body language that pushed out those who were inferior, she moved out of the way of the oncoming foot traffic as she tried to find a place to find her bearings in this large building. Trina worked in a fairly large building herself, but this one dwarfed it with its opulence, class, elegant architecture, and occupancy of well-dressed people. In fact, Trina felt largely underdressed for the occasion. Her assignment was to reach out and try to hand out some literature to some magazines and publishers about the company’s advertising division, a smaller sector that she seemed to be tossed in and out of due to her role as the executive assistant to one of the men in charge of communications.
This mission would be a lot more convenient if someone had told me the name of the publisher and how to pitch this, she thought to herself, inching along the wall to stay out of the way of the brisk paces of overly dressed executives. She finally scaled her way to the directory but found herself confounded by every name on the list. There were multiple publishers, businesses, human resources offices, and more. For all the extravagance of the building, they were not well listed. Trina tried tracing her finger along the engraved letters in the large letter boards but found herself unable to really keep track of the 50+ floors. All she needed was to know what was on the 47th. That was what she was told. 47th floor. It would have been fine to have just gone up, wouldn’t it have been? But to show up and not know where to go or even the establishment would have been a social downfall, not just on her but also on the company.
A few times she tried to grab the attention of a passerby, but no one paid her any mind. Trina considered the reasons. It was probably, she thought ruefully, a combination of many things, all based upon appearance. Her clothes were not new, nor were they tailored. Her hair was showing slight signs of greying, a feature she thought, no doubt, was in part caused by her ex. Her posture was somewhat cramped, uncertain. She did not exude the confidence of the young women who bristled by her, their pencil skirts fitted and their blazers tucked properly. And finally, the downfall. She was a woman. After some unsuccessful attempts to gain assistance, Trina retreated and spotted a place to rest away from the bustling of the hall.
She whisked herself away from the wall and fell into an alcove where she thought she would catch her breath from the anxiety of being surrounded by the overdressed and overconfident. She exhaled before catching in her peripheral vision a man who didn’t seem to want to be there. Gathering her courage, she approached him with her best smile and her voice a mix of kind and professional. “Sir, I hope it isn’t a bother, but might I ask... what’s on the 47th floor? I have to drop off some papers but I haven’t the faintest clue what’s up there.”
