We were in the elevator together. Me and the person who had interviewed me for the job that I had started yesterday. That’s right. Day 2. Me and her. We were coming back to the office from a managers meeting. I knew what was about to happen. I could sense it. She’s a particularly direct person and it was just going to be two of us in the elevator… I braced myself for the doors closing.
“So, what is this?” she said as she dragged her finger through the air across the lower half of my body. (I’d love to say that I felt a burning sensation from her air pointing, but I didn’t. You do, however, get the idea as to how I felt.)
“It’s my style.” I mustered. I didn’t really want to talk about my condition in the elevator. I’m fairly confident that she didn’t really want to hear what “this” was. But, I carried on. We were only on floor 5 (of 30!). “I have a chronic swelling condition and have to wear compression full-time. I use the legging as a way to cover up, what I feel is, an ugly compression garment.”
The elevator doors opened and she walked out. It was as if I didn’t really say anything at all.