บท 3: Job Hunting
Chapter 3: Job Hunting
I woke up to the sun burning my foot, realizing I hadn't properly closed the curtains the night before. Groaning, I reached for my phone under the pillow.
'Saturday, 10:06'
My eyes widened as I sat up abruptly, causing a sudden headache. I held my head and rubbed my temples. I had woken up late, and I knew my aunt wouldn't let it go, especially now that I was jobless.
I quickly made my bed before leaving my room, still dressed in my pink pajamas and hair resembling a bird's nest. As much as I wanted to freshen up in peace, my room didn't have its own shower. The one I used was outside, next to the kitchen.
I managed to slip out of my room without being noticed by Auntie, only to be surprised when I saw her cooking in the kitchen, glaring at me.
"Why are you so late? You need to find a job," she said with an unsettling calmness.
I was surprised by her unusual composure, and goosebumps formed on my skin. Is she a ghost? It was not normal. Normally, my aunt would shout to the point where the neighbors would wake up from the sound of her voice. She's the alarm here.
The calmness she displayed sent shivers down my spine. I rubbed my shoulders and hurriedly made my way to the bathroom, ignoring my aunt and her weird calm self.
It's positive, she's a ghost.
"I will find one after my shower!" I shouted from inside the bathroom.
I quickly took a warm bath, trying to calm my mind and think of where I could find a job that would accept me. I doubted there were many available positions considering the city was filled with desperate people in need of work. The competition was fierce, and as an average worker, I often felt overlooked.
I had graduated from an average university with average grades. I had barely participated in extracurricular activities, as I was too busy being a guard and a maid to my cousins. Talk about abuse, I am the Cinderella here. I simply didn't have the time to focus on my studies. My friends would jokingly say, especially when we were drinking, that my only asset was my looks.
After showering, I dressed in formal attire—a black skirt, a black suit, two-inch black sandals, and my hair pulled back into a bun. I tried my best to look both modest and fashionable by wearing fake golden accessories I had purchased online, which miraculously hadn't rusted yet. I applied light makeup to conceal the stress on my face.
I opened my phone and started searching for available jobs online, hoping to find something that aligned with my business administration degree. However, the results displayed jobs like waitress, part-time work at a fashion company, chef at a new restaurant, and many others that I knew I couldn't do without creating a mess.
Grabbing my bag, which contained my resume and files, I left the house without eating the food Auntie had prepared.
I hopped onto the bike I had bought with my first job's salary. Since our apartment was in the middle of the city, I could reach any part of it by riding my bike. I had realized that commuting by subway or bus every day cost a lot, so I decided to invest in a bike, which also forced me to exercise my sleeping muscles.
"You're late! Are you going to apply for another job?" the guard asked as I passed through.
"Yeah! Pray for me!" I shouted back, leaving the parking area.
Embarassing. Even the guards knows that I'm looking for a job. Because I was always looking for one.
My first destination was a fashion company that was looking for an assistant. Despite knowing that my fashion sense was lacking, I figured trying for an interview wouldn't hurt. I had become somewhat of an interview expert after going through the process multiple times. Nerves no longer bother me as they once did.
I consider this my newly discovered super powers.
I should probably just teach a class on how to be calm in an interview. It isn't a bad idea considering that there's a lot of people doing an interview. I'll probably earn a bunch of cash. Or, better yet make a video tutorial and sell it online.
The queue for the interview was long, and I hoped I would be interviewed before lunchtime. I found myself at the very end of the line, with ten people standing outside under the scorching sun because the line was too long to fit indoors. The woman in front of me wore a bright pink suit with ruffled sleeves, paired with black pants and a neon yellow bag. The brightness of her outfit made me squint my eyes. She's literally brighter than the sun!
How could she wear such vibrant clothes in the middle of the day? I could never.
As I glanced around, I noticed that everyone in line looked like models. They were dressed in branded clothes, looking effortlessly beautiful despite being drenched in sweat. I suddenly felt out of place with my ordinary attire.
By the time I was called inside, it was already lunchtime, and my stomach was growling with hunger. I entered the room, holding my stomach and forcing a wide smile as I greeted the panel.
The woman in the cheetah-printed suit looked me up and down, her eyebrows furrowing. She stared at my face for what felt like an eternity before sighing and getting up from her chair, grabbing her bag.
I was taken aback and immediately stood up, following her. "You still have to interview me!" I protested, reaching out to grab her hand.
She looked at me dismissively. "Look at yourself. This is a fashion company. I can't possibly hire someone who has no sense of fashion. Go look for another job," she said, pushing my hand away.
I stood there in shock. I had waited for hours to get an interview, even enduring the sun's scorching heat, and now the woman who was supposed to interview me was walking out just like that.
Definitely not worth it.
"I waited for hours! Let me at least prove myself!" I shouted as she continued to walk away.
She continued to walk like she didn't heard me.
"I don't care anymore! Your brand is shitty anyway!" I retorted, feeling a burning anger rise within me. I stormed out of the building, my face flushed with embarrassment and frustration.
"Fashion? She doesn't even have it, Cheetah," I muttered to myself as I pedaled away on my bike.
My tummy was already growling when I found a seat outside a restaurant and began to eat my chicken, rice, vegetable salad, and iced milk. Sitting alone at an eight-seater table, I observed the passersby in their formal suits, looking busy and successfull. I daydreamed of someday walking confidently as a successful office worker.
But right now, it seemed like a distant dream.
"Can we sit here?" a cheerful voice interrupted my thoughts.
Without looking up, I nodded my head. "Thanks," the voice replied cheerfully, and the sound of chairs being moved reached my ears.
I stole a quick glance at them, trying to appear nonchalant while secretly observing. Sitting across from me were five individuals who exuded an air of profesionals. Four of them were men, and one was a serious-looking woman holding a paper that resembled a map. She was absolutely stunning, wearing an oversized suit with flowing blonde hair. It was as if she had borrowed her husband's attire and still managed to look incredibly gorgeous.
The four men sitting beside her were equally striking. One appeared to be in his forties, wearing a kind smile as he nodded along to the conversation. I couldn't help but assume he must have had a family. Next to him was a man with a wide grin, talking animatedly. His voice was loud and cheerful. I guessed he was the one who had spoken to me.
The other two men were engrossed in their conversation. The first seemed deep in thought, gazing blankly at the table as he spoke to the man beside him. He had shoulder-length hair that suited him better than some women I had seen. The last man, sitting at the end of the table, was the largest and most striking of them all. His muscular physique was visible even under his polo shirt, and his face had a princely charm. His eyes kept flickering between the group and me, making me feel self-conscious.
Lost in my thoughts, I took a sip of my iced milk, only to choke when I noticed their collective gaze fixed upon me.
Why are they looking at me like that? Do I look that bad?
Embarrassed, I coughed loudly, feeling my cheeks turn red. It seemed as though I had interrupted their private meeting.
The man with the kind smile leaned forward, his eyes filled with concern. "Are you alright?" he asked in a gentle voice.
I nodded, still coughing slightly. "Yes, thank you. Just went down the wrong pipe," I managed to reply, my voice slightly hoarse.
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