Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy

3-Tediously Underwhelmed

She was half conscious for a period of time-it could have been five minutes, maybe ten; there was no real way of remembering-listening to a kind of mellow tune that didn't seem to stop. Finally she had a sudden realization and wrenched her eyes open; it was the alarm on her phone. It was currently six a.m. Still tired from travel, she got up and ate a banana and some cereal. She got dressed and ready and left her room by 6:45. Her work was only a short elevator ride away. The building was a glittering 30 stories tall with a timeless and yet classic feel. It was historical and paid homage to a grander time filled with golden ceilings, heavy drapery, and intricately sculpted marble columns; yet it brought the safety and comfort of modern inventions such as brand new elevators and infrastructure. She stepped into the glass elevator and pressed the silver button labeled "Office Floor 1". As she floated up over the foggy London skyline, her excitement overwhelmed her sagging eyelids and tired head. Finally, the elevator slowly and softly came to a stop. All of her eagerness bubbled up inside to the highest point of her chest. The mirrored doors opened all in one motion and the bubbles in her chest fell almost as swiftly. There was still possible hope, though. There always was. There had to be. What she saw was a grey and square room packed to every corner with bland cubicles. It hardly compared to the welcoming and intimidating 1st floor lobby with its sparkling chandeliers and overly large hearth, which practically begged you to pick up a book and take a nap in front of it. She walked out of the elevator to the front desk and was greeted by a small receptionist, whom according to the small tag on her blouse, was named Darcy.

"Hello! How can I help you?"

Oh, right. She loved in London now. She would have to get used to the English accent.

"Hi, I'm Scarlett. I applied for the Costume Apprentice position. I'm told orientation starts at 7:00?"
"Yes and it is currently," she checked her watch, "6:55. Feel free to wait in the designated area and enjoy the complimentary coffee and biscuits." Her accent showed through in her conversation; "biscuits" is the British word for cookies.

She gestured to a small corner of the room-it was the only spot that wasn't crowded with gray boxes. There she found a stack of name tags and a black marker. She took one and wrote her name in plain letters. She poured herself a cup of free coffee. It was better than what she had at home. Still not great. She took a napkin and a small cookie that turned out to be a snickerdoodle. Although she didn't do much but eat and drink, the five minutes between orientation and her arrival seemed to stretch for ages. When the short hand on the plain white clock finally did meet the seven, a young-looking yet intimidatingly experienced woman made her way toward the coffee and cookies.

"Good Morning. Scarlett? I'm Mrs. Andersen. I am your guide today and will be your employer over the course of the next two years. Did you have any cookies? Coffee?"
"It's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Andersen. And yes, I had some coffee with a snickerdoodle."
"Of course you did.," she looked her up and down. "So, shall we start?"
"Let's."

She helped her down a slim-well, venturing to call it a hallway was a little much- strip in between the workers typing away. After a short trip around the office, they arrived back where they started. Once there, Mrs. Andersen showed Scarlett to her very own cubicle-how exciting! She could not hold in her genuine eagerness to work stuffed into a box everyday!
She was handed her first assignment. Apparently, the first thing one must learn about costume making has absolutely nothing to do with costumes at all. For now, the company was using her to file papers, organize fabric shipments, etc. What she wanted to know was when would she be able to get her hands on real fabric, rather than their shipment papers? When could she be liberated from the confinement of her cubicle and create and sketch and design? Would she ever even meet the dancers for whom she would design? Only patience will tell her.