Missed Connections

Missed Connections: Chapter 22

Chapter 22

"We've got something for you that we think will solve your"—Fern looks me up and down—"dilemma."

Dilemma? I follow her to the back room where there's a pile of fabric on the counter in blinding shades of red, orange, and yellow. The colors are so saturated and bright that I have to blink and look away. Fern's expectant smile confuses me.

I'm clearly missing something. "What?"

She tsks. "They're smocks! Now you won't have to worry about what to wear every day. Isn't that fabulous?"

No. Oh God, no. She holds one up and spreads it out, and I see it is indeed a smock.

"Put it on," she encourages with a smile.

I balk, but there's a stack of them, so at least I won't be alone in this travesty of fashion and individuality.

With a smile, I take it, head to the bathroom, and put it on as I try to compose myself in private. Looking in the mirror, I can see it's even worse than I thought. The color scheme is like a reverse partial rainbow. The neck, shoulders, and sleeves are bright yellow—a color that's always made me look sallow and ill. The strip of orange cuts my boobs in half and continues down to my belly button. The bottom of the smock is bright red.

The lights reflect the colors into the room around me, and they shine up into my face. As if the horizontal striping wasn't unflattering enough, I look radioactive. The material is stiff, and the boxy pattern completely hides my shape, but I discover a tie at the back and pull the drawstring a little tighter. It brings in the waist but makes the shoulders and sleeves flare out more dramatically.

Now I look like a fluorescent linebacker.

I loosen the drawstring, returning to being a rectangle.

And I'm going to have to wear one of these every day?

What's brought this new uniformity on? Why would Ziggy and Fern, champions of freedom of expression, suddenly decide uniforms are the way to go? They're not corporate enough to resolve any conflict between Phyllis and me, or learn labor laws, but they decide that uniforms aren't impinging on individuality?

With a sigh, I head back out to the kitchen.

"It looks wonderful! So bright and cheerful." Fern's eyes light up when she sees me.

"They certainly are bright. But..." I gnaw my lip, deciding how best to proceed.

Her smile dims. "What?"

"Is this going to be an everyday thing?"

"Yes."

"And we all have to wear these?"

Fern crosses her arms. "The material is a little stiff for the massage therapists to work in and move freely."

Tell me about it. "I need to move too, doing the laundry and making the beds," I point out.

"We didn't feel that it was fair to expect the massage therapists to wear them because they are technically independent contractors, and this new policy wasn't in place when they started."

"It wasn't in place when I started either."

She purses her lips. "No, but you're a different type of worker."

"So..."

"It's for the employees. To look more professional."

Is she saying I don't look professional because I haven't been parading around in a kaftan or wearing jewelry made from shells and crystals? "But I'm the only technical employee."