Free Miss Manners by Iman Sid Page B

urely no one would notice?
    But , as I stood outside the toilets for a moment, I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of guilt and wrongdoing.
    W hat was I thinking? I was a thief !
    Once I ’d used as many diversion tactics as possible to silence my conscience, I slowly walked up to the reception desk. Behind the desk sat Sandra with a face like an angry bee. Her long fingernails made a clinking noise against the keyboard. As I stood there, she stopped whatever it was she was doing and stared at me suspiciously, accusingly, even, her large brown eyes fixated on my now perspiring face.
    Oh, crap ! Did she know what I had just done? Were there hidden cameras in the toilets I failed to notice?
    Before I could continue my attempts at telepathy, my thoughts were interrupted.
    ‘May I be of assistance?’ she asked.
    ‘ I’m here for the internship at Couture ,’ I said, trying to remain calm and collected.
    ‘ Just a moment.’ The receptionist took a long sip of her glass of water, then expelled a loud mouthful of air. ‘Now, who was it you were after?’
    ‘ Sarah Bentley.’
    ‘ Sarah Bentley,’ she parroted. ‘Just a moment.’ The receptionist began typing on her computer for what seemed like eternity, then picked up the phone receiver. ‘Good morning, Sarah, I have a...’ She turned to me expectantly.
    ‘ Anna. Anna Borgström.’
    ‘ Anna Borg – Blog – yes, that’s the one,’ she said before hanging up the phone. She popped a wad of gum into her mouth and started to chew. ‘She’ll see you in a few minutes. Meanwhile, please take a seat in the waiting area.’
    As I looked around the waiting area, I noticed a very serious-looking girl with John Lennon glasses in beatnik black sitting cross-legged opposite me, holding a Dictaphone in one hand and a notepad in the other. To my right was a scruffy blonde boy with a writer’s shave who looked like someone out of Waiting for Godot . He was wearing a brown corduroy blazer and plimsolls.
    As I went to sit down, he pulled his flat cap out of his eyes and smiled.
    ‘ You here to see Romilly?’ he said in a thick American accent.
    ‘ Yeah,’ I sniffed. ‘They don’t half like to keep you waiting here, do they?’ I scanned the room for a vending machine, but couldn’t find one. ‘I don’t like waiting.’
    The boy laughed. ‘I know. I noticed you at the reception desk. Your name’s Anna, right?’
    ‘ Yeah. You?’
    ‘ Bri– Henry. Henry Biggins,’ he said hesitantly, as if he’d forgotten his own name.
    As I looked over at the girl, she narrowed her eyes, lowered her head, then put her pen to her pad and began writing furiously.
    ‘ You waiting for Romilly as well, then?’ I asked, despite her being about as sociable as a butterfly in a chrysalis. There was no response.
    ‘ Don’t worry, I’ve already tried,’ said Henry with a lopsided smile.
    ‘ In that case, I won’t bother.’
    The girl flashed me a brief look of disgust, th en resumed her writing. I could tell we were going to be BFFs.
    At that moment, a tall, well -groomed woman in her forties walked towards us holding a clipboard.
    ‘ Good morning, interns. My name is Sarah Bentley, deputy editor here at Couture . Firstly, I would like to congratulate you all on being selected for the spring/summer Couture internship programme. Thousands applied, so you should be very proud of your achievement. But, unfortunately, there is only one job available at the end of the programme. So, you really need to get your game on.’
    Only one job? I thought, feeling slightly disheartened.
    ‘ Now, each of you has been allocated a time slot in which to meet Romilly this morning,’ she continued. ‘Sophie Brown, your time is ten; Henry Biggins, your time is ten fifteen; and Anna Bog-Blog–’
    ‘ Borgström,’ I corrected, beginning to feel fed up with everyone’s inability to pronounce my name. I mean, come on, it wasn’t exactly rocket science.
    ‘ Yes,’ she continued dismissively.