chapter three

It was Friday. I love Fridays like how I love putting my hands around a mug of hot chocolate when it is freezing cold. It gives you warmth and happiness but the warmth does not last forever. In this case, it loses when it is Monday. Friday symbolizes partying and boozing till the sun rises.

I was walking to my office with my oversized black blouse, black leggings and my bright yellow wedges. I felt confident, happy and could not wait till 5 p.m. Then, I would be free.

Wait, I have a date tonight. Not a date, bitch. Or maybe it would be a date? In an acupuncture centre? I wonder if God is laughing with what is going to happen tonight.

Well, besides that ‘date’, I was happy with myself. I love my job. I am currently working as a human resource manager in a law firm. I type some documents and reports, copy, file them accordingly and most importantly, handle the workers salaries. I love the aura in a firm. It makes you feel smart and brainy. However, at the interior aspect of it, people do not laugh. Everybody would look like walking robots, talked about stupid cases and the firm looked like there was an international conference to stop wars around the world. They also make very lame jokes. One day, Sam my officemate came to me and invited me for lunch.

“Yes, why not? Where Sam? Marie’s?” I asked.

“Wall Street!” he joked and some geeks around us who overheard laughed like there was no tomorrow. They even hit the table with their fists and kept laughing.

Wall Street? A joke? Seriously?

“God, bless these fools with a functional heart and give them a sense of humour.” I whispered to myself while seeing my mates still laughing their hearts out.

There was another incident which made me laugh to death. There was this one lunch where I was sitting with Sam, Luke and Brandi. Three geeks and a fashionista. It was my first week in the firm, so I tried to start to a conversation with them.

“Do you know that Paris just dumped her boyfriend? Plus, she just established her own clothing line. She is my idol though she can be bitchy sometimes.” I said enthusiastically while shaping my nails with a Revlon emery board. I knew this would spark some interest. Who doesn’t want to know about gossips right?

They were quiet and I felt like I was talking to three ugly cows. No response. They were looking at each other as if I was lying.

“Isn’t Paris in France?” Brandi asked curiously. She frowned like a confused kid with her big glasses perched on her crooked nose.

“No. Don’t you read People? She is in Las Vegas!” I replied, proud that I was the gossip feeder.

“Paris is a she? You mean there is such a person named Paris?” Luke continued. Three of them laughed and looked as if they could not accept the fact.

I felt like poking them in the eyes with my Louis Vuitton heels. I screamed so loud that three waiters and the manager ran to our table. A waitress also dropped her tray of food and it spilled on the thigh of a lady. My eyes were red. I was confused for a microsecond whether to laugh or to cry. These guys do not even know Paris Hilton. I wonder if they have a television in their houses. Are workers in law firms not allowed to read People or have a television? If that was the case, I wanted to resign on the spot. There was no way in the world I would live without a television.

I was at my desk and Claudia, a famous attorney came to me with some bulky files. I have never liked her and I knew she has never liked me too. I just could not accept that she has committed a very heinous crime. She had a fake Coach tote bag. I repeat, a fake one!

One fine day, I asked her “Claudia, you have a very nice satchel bag. Coach?”

“Yes, I bought it from the boutique two days ago. It was around a thousand.” She smiled and told me the price which I did not ask for.

Bullshit. I knew it was a lie. I could tell it was fake at first glance. And one fine afternoon, she left her bag in her room for lunch. She brought a smaller purse with her which it could store some money and a handphone. I was so pissed she lied about the bag and I was dying to inspect the inner tag of the bag. I was going to prove to her I am a brilliant girl. That attorney was so wrong.

I was imagining myself as Nancy Drew that afternoon. I had to get in before lunch break ended. Without wasting any time, I took some files with me, hugged them like they were ruby gems and walked confidently to her office. Sweats coursed down my neck, I was nervous. I was close to the door. I could smell the whiff of fakeness. I could smell that fake bag.

I held the door knob and opened it.

“Mallory, what are you doing?” A voice from behind shocked me. I dropped all my bulky files to the ground and papers flew everywhere like a confetti.

It was Felicia, Claudia’s assistant. She is blonde, loves to flirt with old men and such a nosy bitch. I felt trapped. I had to compose myself. Go Mallory!

“Felicia, you shocked me. Claudia asked me to type and check on some files and I am returning them now.” I convinced her and made a very professional expression.

“Okay. Why don’t you leave them on my table? I will pass it to her when she is back. Thanks a lot Mallory.” She said.

Mallory, calm down. There must be a way. I was arranging the papers on the floor while thinking.

“Are you sure? Because she asked me this morning to put in on her table before the lunch break ends. It is about that Dubai contract.” I frowned a bit.

I made that up. There was no contract with any Dubai companies, I just picked Dubai because it is a grand place. It was do or die. She had to buy that lie or Claudia would continue smiling like a peacock clutching her hideous bag in front of me. What an eyesore!

“Oh, okay then. Just put it in her pink file beside the computer.” She reminded.

“Sure darl.” I smirked and inside of me felt orgasmic.

I closed the door, put the files on the table and snatched that bag. My hands were furious, searching for a tag somewhere inside that bag. It was quite hard because she brought all items in a pharmacy and put them in that bag. There were three shades of eyeshadow, lip gloss, hand sanitizers, sanitary pads, wet tissues, mirrors, vitamins, lavender lotion and three sets of toothbrush. What is she? A walking pharmacy? Does she sleep here that she had toothbrush in her bag? Maybe her breath smells like a cow dung.

Oh my god. I could feel that tag at the bottom of it. I analysed it carefully but I could not read anything. It was not written in English. I became clueless, trying to decipher the writing. I thought I was acting in the Da Vincci Code. It could be a mix of Tagalog, Urdu and Hokien. I had no idea what it meant but what for sure, it was fake. Gotcha bitch!

Satisfied, I transferred some papers from the file and put them in the printer slots. The papers in the files were empty A4 papers. I got out of the room feeling happier than ever.

            

The next Sunday, I woke up early. I felt that day was the best day of my life. It was the day to smile because there was a huge sale by many designers. This sale was like a dream come true. This kind of sale only happens once in four years. So, it was a huge deal.

While I was sipping my thick coffee, I smiled alone in my kitchen. I could imagine the Gucci denim vest and a Hermes pleated skirt with mouths were saying hi to me. They were smiling and they were telling me I looked beautiful like a rainbow and I would look better with them on me. Until, I felt hot on my thigh.

            

“Crap!” I shouted. My eyes were looking frantically for a napkin to wipe the coffee on my thigh. It was hot and my thighs were already red. I was daydreaming too much that I did not realize I spilled it.

         

   Now, I had to change my shorts to a new one. I could never go to a sale looking like a Latin maid. At last, I decided to wear my Topshop grey tee matched with a low cut, skinny jeans, a pair of brown gladiator heels and a brown tote bag. I also accessorize my outfit with a colourful scarf hanging from my neck. I looked good and I was pumped to grab as much items as I can into my trolley.

       

     I was at the Birmingham Street, queuing in front of the store. Hundreds of other women were also lining up, smiling, chatting with other women and all of them looked as ready as ever. Sales are like a battlefield. If you don’t battle and you are not aggressive, you are going home with just sweats all over your body. I was nervous and afraid that I would not be able to buy anything. Honestly, girls can be really mean when shopping during sales.

        

    “Open sesame!” I heard a voice from the door.

        

    God, it is now open! Do or die Mallory.

          

  I sprinted hurriedly in my heels to the door. There was no such thing as first come first serve basis for me. Poor those other women lining up in front of me. I could not care less. I ran with eager until I felt my face has smacked into something solid. I hit the entrance door. Ouch! It was a transparent glass. I did not realize it.

         

   I sat helplessly in front of the entrance caressing my lips and my nose. I could see my lipstick shade had stained the glass. It hurt! Shit. All of the women were also running to the entrance. I could die in a stampede in a sale. I did not want to die that way.

          

  I crawled backwards leaning myself to the wall, folding my legs and thought I looked like a stylish beggar. ‘I am not going to lose!’ I said to myself. I stood up like a hero usually does in movies and strut into the store. My lips suddenly felt wrong. I walked to the nearest mirror and almost fainted. My nose was bleeding, making its way to my lips and my lips looked swollen. Oh my lord, now I looked like Rihanna when she was beaten.

         

   Every other woman stared at me in disbelief, some laughed and I could see some other were whispering.  I felt like I needed to go home and cried in my bedroom with my pillow on top of my face. I was embarrassed as all of them literally stopped from holding the items, it was pin-drop silent and everybody stood there like waxes in Madame Tussaud, staring at me. Mallory, this happens once in four years. Remember the denim jacket you saw in Marie Claire and also the classic Chanel earrings. Are you bloody sure you want to leave and one day, you would see some ugly cows(girls) walking down the street with the earrings?

            

“No way! You are not going to get my Chanel earrings, fat bitches!” I shouted emotionally. A sudden reaction to what I was imagining. The chaos turned to silence again and everybody was eyeing me like I was a lunatic. Did I just shout in a store with hundreds of women shopping in it? I was embarrassed. Again.

         

   Three workers approached me, held my hands tight and asked me to calm down. Now, they really thought I was a mental disordered patient who escaped from an asylum.

           

“I am so sorry that I caused a commotion. It was accidental. I promise it will not happen again. And yes, I am not crazy.” I explained to the workers who looked scared to death. Maybe they thought it would be their first time handling a person who was mentally disabled.

           

       They let me go. I pretended that I did not hit the door, bled my nose and shouted in the middle of a sale, and walked to the clothes section. Whatever. All I was looking for is that denim jacket. God, pour me some love. It was so hard trying to search for it as I was hustling through the crowd. There was a sea of people and all I could see was their heads bobbing and moving furiously like hungry dogs.

           

“I love you Jesus.” I said when I saw the denim section. I walked with difficulties hugged the panel like I was hugging men. I scanned through the panel and saw the vest. The Gucci vest! I kissed the vest and without realizing, I had a tear in my eyes. I caressed the vest and placed it on my cheeks. I was smiling.

          

  “Oh my God. Look at Rihanna. She is crazy. She is crying because of that jacket.” I heard a woman hissed in front of me. Some women looked terrified. They were just jealous.

            

“Shut up you old lady. You have some bald patches on your head and you are jealous I got this vest because all you have is just some Mom Jeans. FYI, Mom Jeans are only for desperate housewives like you who are dying to show your droopy ass.” I hissed at her back, rather ferociously.

           

“And yeah, what are you doing in a sale? You do not belong here. You should be cleaning dishes or baking some cakes.” I continued while rolling my eyes.

          

  “You rude bitch! Not only you cried for an ugly vest, you do not even have values.” She was pissed.

      Firstly, the vest was not ugly. I swear. And to say I do not have values was too much. She is not my mother. My mother is not ugly. She is just old.

           

“Whatever granny. Anyways, you look super hideous in this orange suit. Just like a mental patient.” I said in a very sarcastic tone, passed her trolley and headed to the accessory station.

    They were hundreds of earrings, hanging on the white panels. My eyes were wild, searching for the Chanel earrings. I was crossing my fingers and was praying to the god of Karl Lagerfeld’s to be nice and kind. I spent fifteen minutes scanning those panels and I was disappointed. No Chanel. Somebody must have bought them. To ease my remorse, I took a trolley and wandered in the store. Those taken earrings must be replaced with something else. I must be fair to myself. I was sad and I deserved a pear-shaped skirt or a maxi dress. And girl, I was not lying.

    

    Three hours later, I got a bohemian dress by Etro, a Dolce bag, DKNY leggings in pink, black and green, a clutch, Max Mara stilettos, an oversized jacket, my Gucci jacket(yes!), 3 pairs of earrings and a black pear-shaped skirt by Versace. I was happier than ever. I had already forgotten those Chanel earrings. Wait, no I haven’t. But, all these darlings could compensate my sad feelings. I was pushing my trolley and now queuing to pay. The line was so long. I could not even see the cashier. Maybe she was not wearing heels?

   

    Thirty minutes have passed and I was still lining up. My feet felt numb, I felt tired and I could sleep on the floor. My eyes were droopy and I could not wait to get home. Until, my eyes saw something I was dying for. Those Chanel earrings! They were in a trolley of another customer. My mind was racing. I could not see who was the owner of the trolley because she was facing the other way. I had to get my Chanel!

    The person was queuing in another line but rather parallel to where I was. She was blonde, quite tall and had a nice body. I was scanning everything she wore. A trench coat, a pair of jeans, a Coach bag and green heels. Wait! I knew that bag! It was Claudia’s.

Hell yeah, it was Claudia. She saw me too and we exchanged fake smiles just like her fake bag.

“Nice earrings. Very classic taste.” I complimented. Those earrings looked parfait.

“Chanel.” She smiled and she looked so proud as if she was the only girl in the world who has earlobes.

“I searched for them quite a while. Had no idea they were with you”. I took the earrings from the basket on top of her trolley and began caressing the gems.  She looked uneasy.

“Yeah, I took them. I was the first girl who got to the station.” She took the earrings back from my hands and clenched gently in her fist.

“Claudia, I know you lied to me about your bag.” I said. Revenge is sweet. I could sense some ladies were already eyeing us and found what I said interesting.

“Which bag? Spill me in Mallory.” She knew I was talking about that bag. She rolled her eyes and I was annoyed by that.

       

“Claudia, I am talking about the bag you are clutching now. I know that is a fake Coach bag. Only fools would say it is real. Everybody knows that is fake honey. F-A-K-E!” I raised my voice, with the hope of drawing attention to Claudia and her bag.

            

“Oh my, what a crime! How embarrassing!” A woman hissed behind me. Some were holding their chests, breathing in disbelief that Claudia had a fake bag. A young girl near us who was holding a knee-length boots dropped them on the ground as she heard I spelled the word fake. Claudia did not what to do. She looked stiff and she had no idea what to do.

  “What are you talking about? Do you have anything to proof it is fake?” she asked, rolling her eyes again, Chanel still in her hands. Other ladies were staring at me, waiting for an answer.

            

“Firstly, the material speaks for itself. Not only it looked cheap, and yeah it is cheap by the way, the inner tag was also in Urdu, Tagalog and Hokkien. How real is that?”I shouted. Take that you slut!

            

“What!” Suddenly, a black woman who was about to pay at the counter smashed her wallet on the floor. She could not accept that, I suppose. I mean, who could?

            

“You know you are not helping the economy, don’t you?” A woman in her fifties in her Mom Jeans asked. She looked pissed. I could imagine her teaching Maths and History.

            

“Chinatown? You are a disgrace to all human beings!” the lady behind her scolded.

            

    Claudia gritted her teeth. She was so angry and she looked ready to battle with five Sumo guys. I smirked. I made my point. That Coach was fake.

            

    I smiled with my heads held high. Though I did not get the earrings, I was happy as a lark. I paid and went home.

I told you, girls could be mean.