Yolande

The start of my novel (unedited)

The Universe, Angels, God, who knows, but one of them answers your prayers. You must sow your seed and they will help you to grow it. After hundreds of seed sown, I have become an expert in waiting for growth. My garden has seed, I give it water, but I am still waiting for the lush green to appear, and here I am again, sowing another seed. I am again waiting in a reception area with flower paintings by some unknown artist accompanied by neatly arrange false plants. That should be my first clue; this place cannot have anything real for me. I often wonder if potential employers have secret cameras in their reception areas, watching the nervous interviewee look around while they enjoy a little giggle. Yes, I think so; they sit in their fine offices watching their own reality TV. Next, a man or woman I have never seen in my life will storm towards me, hand stretched out, expecting me to know what they want.
‘Miss ---------‘, comes the forced polite voice from the tall man in front of me. I get up, trying not to knock everything around me over and extend my own firm hand.
‘Mr -------‘, I say with a bit of a question mark in my voice. I never understand how they expect you to know who they are.
‘Come with me.’
I follow the tall man, who I now presume is Mr --------. He has a very nice physique and this suit must be custom made by some local or maybe even international designer. He probably has a perfect wife, perfect children and a perfect yacht. Yes, he is the man who gets the high salary, while his secretary runs his life, buys his wife’s presents and books their romantic getaways. He suddenly stops and I must think fast or he might end up sprawled on his nice office carpet. He is a gentleman and lets me enter the office first. The door closes behind me; this is it, another discussion of my life and where I want to be in five years. It should actually be four years, since one year has already been spent talking about it.

All the same questions that I answer with precision and confidence. Then the question about the vast amount of companies I have worked for. I explain that it was all temporary assignments, as it states on the CV. Then the question: ‘Why so many temp assignments and no permanent positions?’ I want to scream. Don’t these people get it? I did not ask to temp all my life, it just happened. At least I was constantly employed. Then the temporary assignments turned into a new experience new South African workforce.
‘Miss ----------, are you married?’ Why do they always want to know that? Will it influence my ability to type a letter?
‘No Sir, I have never been married.’
‘And you are now’, he hesitates and raises an eyebrow, ‘thirty-two?’
‘Yes Sir.’
‘You are thirty-two and have never been married and you have been temping your whole corporate career?’ I wonder if he is slow.
‘That would be correct Sir.’
‘Well, you are everything I want, but I will have to be honest with you; I cannot offer you a permanent position. This position is unfortunately only open for AA candidates, but because my secretary has left so suddenly, I need to have someone capable who can take over immediately, until I can find the suitable AA candidate. You would be perfect and I am sure you understand my situation.’
Oh yes, I understand. Affirmative Action. I am so sick of affirmative action. I will do the work until they find a nice black lady to take over from me. I am too white for the position. Maybe I don’t blend nicely with the flower paintings in the reception. I want to scream and tell him to do his own bloody work, but instead I say, ‘I understand. I am willing to help out until you find a suitable person.’
‘Good then, I have to see two more ladies, but will let you know before close of business today.’
‘Thank you.’
We both get up, we shake hands and I turn to leave the office, like I have done so many other times before; and then they wonder why I have had so many temporary assignments. I have been doing it since 1995, the year after our first democratic elections. It is now 13 years later and I am still paying the price for something that happened while I was a child.

March 22, 2008 11:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | Add Comment