62. Women just aren’t emotionally capable of handling such a job…(A.Nyamhandu)5 min read

Women just aren’t emotionally capable of handling such a job.

David; 32 of age, College graduate, bachelor, the best in the company and my ultimate rival. The devil incarnate himself.My blood bubbles like hot larva beneath my skin just remembering his awful words. How dare he utter such an insensitive sexist remark like it is nothing. Though anger surges through my veins I know it will be the cancer of my success if I do not channel it into something positive. I use it to pump energy through my body, remind myself that there are people like David that need to be put in their place.

The sun rises above the skyline like fire blazing into the sapphire sky. Sunlight leaks through the windows landing into my room and creating a yellow pool. The weather is perfect, this must be a good omen. I am pacing up and down the room reciting the words I will say but before I know it my alarm is blaring, and I know I should be out of this flat in the next thirty minutes or else my schedule will be ruined.

The cool air immediately splashes on my face as soon as my black stilettos hit the concrete ground. The busy streets are filled with cars, people and entertainers. A cacophony of voices fill my ears and I inhale deeply the spicy aroma. I am about to enter the café when a cup of coffee meets my snow-white blouse.

“You have got to be kidding me”

“Wow I am so sorry; I really didn’t see you I was on-” I cut the stranger off before he can give me some stupid excuse.

“You should really watch where you are going,” I say icily. I walk swiftly past him and dash for the bathroom stalls. 

I enter the immaculate bathrooms. I use a bunch of tissues to rub the stain off, but my efforts are in vain, the stain is not going anywhere.

“Darling, try dabbing instead,” a slender lady wearing a black suite says. She is giving me a sympathetic smile. I plaster a fake smile before leaving the bathroom and, my dignity.

I am waving one hand vigorously in the air while balancing my coffee and croissant in the other trying to stop any of the taxis. A hand waving appears in front of me and suddenly a taxi stops. I think the taxis in this city hate me, why else would they avoid me like the plague.

“Thanks,” I say but as he turns to face me, I realise he is the jerk who spilled the coffee on me from earlier. My mood instantly sours. He gives me a curt nod and allows me to enter the vehicle first. 

Well at least chivalry is not dead.                             

Inside the taxi an uncomfortable silence hangs in the atmosphere. I shift awkwardly on the leather seats. It is almost half past seven, I am too anxious to attempt small talk. He is the first one to speak up.

“So where are you heading,”

“I highly doubt that is any of your business,” I say but realise he probably just needed to know which one of us would be dropped of first, “21st street, by the building Incarnations.”

“So, I’ll be the first to leave, collecting a suite by Anthony’s”

I discreetly sneak a glance at him. He is shabbily dressed, and I cannot imagine him ever wearing a suite. I check the time on my phone, my insides squeeze. It is five minutes to eight. 

“This is all your fault”

“Excuse me?”

“If you had not bumped into me, I would still be on time.”
“It was a mistake”

“A mistake you made,” right now I am just trying to make him as mad as he made me. Venom laces each word I say.

“Why are you so angry?” 

“You know why.”

“No, this is about way more than just spilled coffee,” after he says that it is silent not the way it was before we started talking, it is not that I do not have anything to say it is just that I do not trust myself to say it. Instead I do what I taught myself to do a long time ago, I keep quite because showing signs of emotions is just a weakness.

The taxi comes to a halt and the stranger leaves. Now I am left to my thoughts. I am late. This will not look good for me. I cannot let David win. He is just going to prove himself right. What if he is right? What made me think I could do this? What if I-

“Ma’am we are here,” The taxi driver cuts into my thoughts. I gather my thoughts and get out of the taxi.

When I enter the office, I see Mr Richardson, my boss, and David. Mr Richardson looks furious. 

“Miss Black where in the bloody hell have you been!” I am about to answer but he continues.

“You’re lucky Mr Stiles the big client I have been talking about hasn’t arrived. You still have a shot at impressing him. Wait, what the hell is on your shirt?” I look down realising he is talking about the coffee stain.

“Go ask Stephanie if she has an extra shirt or something. There has to be some use to that awfully large bag she walks around with, you’d think she’s carrying around dead bodies.”

Turns out Stephanie really did have an extra shirt and it goes well with my outfit; it is no blouse, but it will do. Despite everything I still had to prove to David what a woman really can do. We are all sitting in the boardroom when Stephanie says Mr stiles arrived. He walks through the glass door and faces us. All the self-confidence I had shatters. Mr Stiles looks at me, surprised. 

“It’s you,” I say, “the stranger from the café.”