Wren walked through revolving glass doors into the lobby of a swank office building. This was a place where white shirted men crunched numbers and black suited execs made bad decisions, this was not a place to teach dance. But the ad had said dance instructor needed for established school. What the hell was a school doing in an office building?
She went to the elevator and pressed the up button. Suite 315 would be on the third floor and so she depressed the little black three once in the box. The music was Rachmaninoff, and soothing. She exited the elevator and the first door she found was 315. 'Odd. Must be the whole floor.'
She entered and was hit with the sounds and smells of a school. She heard children off somewhere and it smelled of paste and peanut butter. 'Ok this is just weird. Weird. Weird. Weird.' A petite primly dressed brunette sat at a reception counter.
"Welcome to the Rosemund School of the Performing Arts, can I help you?"
'So weird.' "Yes, I would like to respond to your ad. May I fill out an application?"
"Please do so. Have you time for an interview? Our Headmaster is in and free at the moment"
"Yes, I would appreciate his time." 'Whoa! Deja vu with a british accent.' Wren took the black keyboard with prim black and white application and a thick manilla folder. 'Okay.' She was shown to a small room just behind the desk, that contained a table with two chairs, and piped music.
She spent over half an hour filling out the application, and reading through the folder. At the back of the folder was a stapled set of papers. She read the top, "Proficiency Test." 'What the fuck? Well whatever. I'll fill it out.'
'Number one, If a child calls another child a name what do you do? A; reprimand the child and ask them to apologize. B; send the child to time out. C; Call the child a name back. D; Do nothing? Um...A'
She went through the fifty question test about leadership, discipline and teaching style. It was well done, and it gave Wren some insight into herself as well as what the school expected. 'Very clever.'
She had just folding the test and placing it into the folder when the door opened. A tall, dapper man with graying temples. Wren stood and shook his hand.
"Carl Rosemund."
"Wren Jameson."
"A pleasure, Ms. Jameson. Please have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, water?"
Wren smiled at the man and returned to her seat, as requested. "Water would be lovely, thank you, Mr. Rosemund."
"A pleasure, please excuse me." He opened the door and spoke softly to the receptionist, then returned to the room and took the chair opposite her.
"Do you mind if I take a moment to look this over before we begin."
Wren gave a single nod of her head. "Please." As Carl read, the door opened and the brunette brought in a tray with a bottled water and a glass of ice, and the makings of hot tea. She set them on the table and quietly left the room. 'Ok this place is really really creepy. I can't put my finger on why, but it is.'
"So tell me a little bit about why you want to teach, Ms. Jameson."
The sudden speech surprised her, as he was still reading her resume.
"I have a passion for art, Mr. Rosemund. It is my hope to take my passion and share it with children. The best place to instill a love of art is at an early age. Children should be exposed to art in its many forms and I want to share the art of movement with them."
"Truly inspiring. Why did you leave your last position. It does not give a reason here."
Ok this was going to take some tap dancing, she was a decent tapper. "My schooling was over. My former employer knew that when it came time to leave school then it would be time to find another line of work."
'Nice.' Her pleasant smile didn't falter as she mentally patted her back. She liked that answer and planned to give it to every interviewer.
"I see." He dropped his gaze back down to the paper, but Wren had seen it. That predatory gleam that some men get when they discover what she did. It was a look that said she was little more than a hooker and they could and would do what they wanted with her. Wren picked up her purse, pulled her resume and head shot from the pile in his hand.
"Good day to you, Mr. Rosemund"
She walked from the room with her shoulders back and her head high. She was not ashamed of her work, nor was she someone's property or a side of beef. This was all just ridiculous. She didn't need to cater to the crappy assed, fucked up, closed minded ideals of ignorant people. She would get a job at a club, and save up to open a studio of her own. Every town needed one more dance studio.
For now she just wanted to go home. Maybe she'd try again tomorrow. She hailed a cab and had it take her home. She'd drown her sorrows in the icecream she'd seen in the freezer then buy him some more later.
((Wren out, lock up.))
Job hunting sucks (private)
Wren looked through her clothes. She had spent an hour getting them on hangers and folded neatly on the shelves in her new closet. She finally decided on a black flippy skirt, a ruby camisole and a black cropped jacket. She finished the look with black tights and conservative two inch heels. 'I need more shoes.' She picked up the small attache she kept her head shots and resume in, and headed out the door.
She left with Drev sleeping soundly in his room, and a note on the counter. She would be leaving notes after she got a job, but for now it was just respectful to let him know. She's hopped the bus to the Strip and found the same little coffee shop of a few nights ago and had breakfast. She then went to the bank and put the money from her mom in her new savings account until she could figure out what to do with. Since it just wasn't safe to have that much money laying around.
Then she picked up a news paper and hit the streets. After finding seven different positions she would possibly qualify for she headed to a children's learning center. She put her paper in a trash can and tucked the page from the classifieds into her purse.
The center was brightly painted and smelled of...well Wren had no idea what that smell was. It wasn't pleasant, but it wasn't gross either. Kind of like baby powder and plastic. She shrugged and approached the front desk.
"Hello, can I help you?" Asked the ponytailed brunette behind the counter.
"Yes, I would like to reply to your newspaper ad. May I fill out an application?"
"Oh sure. I'll let the director know you're here, she'll interview you now if you have the time."
"Yes, ma'am I do."
"Great!" She gave Wren a clip board with a yellow red and white application on it, and a purple pen.
"Thank you." She waited until her back was turned to lift an eyebrow at the colors. In less than five minutes she had the form filled out and a resume pulled from her case. A few moments after that a big haired, way too happy blonde woman asked her to, "Come on back to my office." Wren followed her, hiding the disdain for this creepy woman behind her warm smile.
The woman took her clipboard and reached out to shake her hand
"I'm Brenda. Thanks for coming in," a glance down at the form, "Wren."
"Yes, thank you for seeing me."
"Ok well let me look this over and we'll ask you some questions."
'We? Who you and your hair?' She sat with a warm smile on her lips as the blonde in a bottle looked over her application and then her resume.
"Um...did you really work in a strip club?"
"Yes, ma'am." 'Closed minded bitch.'
"But, why?" She truly seemed not to understand that it wasn't just crack addicts and single mothers that took off their clothes. Wren was pissed.
"I do not believe you have the right to ask that question, ma'am. I retain the right not to answer."
"Oh, um, alright." She looked back down through Wren's resume, with confusion plain on her face, and perhaps, distaste.
"So you've been dancing almost your entire life and you have a degree in dance. Have you ever taught dance before."
Wren sighed and was going to be the adult here, she would not walk out. Not matter how insulting this woman was. She would be kind and sincere and then dream about smashing her head in with a sledge hammer. The image kept the smile on Wren's lips.
"If you will note, I was a teaching assistant for the last year of my schooling. I taught both college classes and the junior classes offered on the campus. I have experience with people from three through twenty-five."
The woman found the portion that explained that and read over the rest of the page. "Tell me why you would be a good candidate for the position."
"I love the art of dance. I want to share my love of the art with children, so that they may grow up and know that there is more to life than numbers and letters. I want to open their hearts and minds to beautiful music and soul-filled movement. Children need all kinds of art in their lives, including the art of movement."
'Shocker, I'm educated.' The woman looked like she had not been expecting a competent answer. Wren suppressed a sigh. This was not the place for her.
"Well let me give you a tour of the facilitate and show you our multi-purpose room, where you would give classes."
Wren didn't want to let this go on any longer, they both knew she would not fit into this environment and there was no sense drawing it out.
"Thank you, Brenda, but no. I do not think Children's University is for me. Thank you for your time, and have a lovely day."
She stood and offered a hand to the stunned blonde. They shook and Wren left. 'Well that sucked. But then the first one can never ever be the one you say yes to, it's like bad luck or something.'
She pulled out her newspaper page and looked at the next circled ad, it was according to her little map, just down the block.
Wren
18 years ago