GINGER AND BUBBLES

15| THE INTERVIEW

"SAFire-X, how can we help you?" I hear the voice on the other side of the line. I confirm my availability for an interview and we agree on a time and date.

"What is your address—"

She cuts into my sentence. "SAFire-X will send a chauffeur to collect you at your doorstep. Please be punctual." The phone clicks in my ear.

I look in the mirror as I put on the eye patch and reach for my darkest pair of shades. After securing the headscarf around my face and pinning it in place with a small diamanté clasp I feel better.

A black SUV with smoke-glass windows is circling the road below my two-story building. I make my way downstairs. A huge, well-groomed man in a black suit, shiny matching tie, and a crisp white shirt stands next to a SUV, sleeves taut around the bulging muscles of his  biceps.

Before I have a chance to greet, thank him for picking me up or introduce myself he speaks. "Miss Delheim, this is the first part of your interview. I am your designated driver."

"First part? I don't understand."

"Please, no questions to me. If you have any, write them down for further discussion with the panel. They will contact you for the second part of your interview." He swings around and opens the door. With his hand on the handle and a blank, averted stare he waits for me to settle inside the vehicle.

"You will find a branded pen, paper, and clipboard on the seat. Compliments from SAFire-X." He closes the door and slides behind the steering wheel. "Please pay close attention to your surroundings. It is important preparation for the first part of your interview."

He speaks without turning towards me or making eye contact in his rearview mirror. From his manner and tone, it is clear that he's focused only on carrying out the instructions he was given. My insides are unsettled as we drive off and it soon turns into spasms when he leaves the city and heads for the Cape Flats.

The vast expanse of the sloping zink houses lay stretched out in the sweltering heat. The vehicle burrows its way through the narrow gravel inroads that connect the various households to a never-ending labyrinth of deprivation. The cool comfort of my plush interior is out of place in the poverty-trapped existence whirring past me on the other side of the tinted windows.

After the squatter camps, he drives around one of the one-size-fits-all sub-economic housing schemes with its semi-detached uniform dormitory-style houses. Against the backdrop of the two-story maisonettes and cottages the burgeoning backyard dwellings, squeezed into the backyards of almost every house, are hard to miss.

The elderly, young adults, teens, and children go about their daily business. Here and there a few people conglomerate on the pavements, front yards, shops, and street corners while the noise of children competes for a space to play with the stream of taxis and cars.

Plugged into an ever-evolving vastness of nothingness, compounded by the lack of living space and amenities, the humdrum of township life is evident. It lingers in the long queues of people outside state-run community hospitals, dehydrated school grounds, and dreary police stations fenced in behind the security walls, gates, and burglar bars.

The human tragedy of poverty ignited something in my mangled brain. The stark realities of the fleeting images are glued into my memory. Words begin to connect and form a story. You must find their past. You must change their present.

"Can I ask you-"

He clears his throat and averts his eyes elsewhere.

"I'm sorry, Miss. I'm only the driver. I follow instructions," he says. He heads back to town, opens the door for me, and waits until I'm standing outside.

"SAFire-X Pharmaceuticals will be in touch. I thank you, Miss."

Now he looks right at me, for the first time.

"They will call and schedule an appointment. Raise concerns, and questions there."

"I only wanted to know your name, but it doesn't matter. I thank you."

With that, he nods, turns around, and walks to the driver's side. He slides behind the wheel, adjusts his rearview mirror, and drives off.

I remove my facial coverings when I'm inside my apartment and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I turn my face sideways and look at my good side.

Job offer?
Medical aid...to fix that? Life's good.

I close my eye, pick up my scarf and drape it over the mirror.

My answering machine is blinking

Good day, Miss Delheim. This is SAFire-X Pharmaceuticals.

The next part of your interview is scheduled for next Wednesday at 11 am. SAFire-X will send a chauffeur to collect you at your doorstep.

I walk to the mirror and pinch my face. I am awake.

I lie down on my back and replay the message in my head.

I sit up. I have a follow-up appointment at 11 am at the hospital on that same day.

No brainer. Postpone.

I call the hospital to postpone the follow-up appointment. A surprise awaits me.

"No problem, Miss Delheim. Safire-X already took care of your cancellation."

In my head, I replay the message once again.

Cut the weirdness, weirdo...if you want this job.