Diary of an Agent's Assistant Chapter 1 - Why don't you wear dresses?

Updated: Jan 26, 2021

The Interview

Why don’t you wear dresses?

I’m used to it, not fitting the societal norm of what a woman is. I fuck women and fucking love women. I’m not comfortable fitting into the box assigned to a woman but I’ll fit into a woman’s box.

She looks at me confused. I just don’t wear them, I’m much happier in a pair of trousers. I always wear the trousers.

I wasn't prepared for my first interview, fuck me it was intense. 4 pairs of eyes flicking between you and their inbox dinging away in the background. You do the usual and scan the room.

The power in all of her grey-haired glory is the boss, I'm terrified but infatuated all at the same time. There's another woman who intimidates me because she's focussed and has a knack for eye-contact. Then there are two guys, one on the phone arguing about contract clauses on a commercial and wanting more money all while opening the window to stop himself from spontaneously combusting, and the other a jovial younger guy typing faster than I can blink or think. Mate, his face must hurt from constantly smiling?

The boss turns from her computer, asks me some more questions, settles back into her chair and smiles. The intense woman is trying to work me out, no, catch me out.

Who’s your favourite actor?

I think fast, look at the boss, of course it’s gotta be a woman. But who? Maggie Smith. A smile from both, fuck yes that’s a good answer. In what? In everything. Harry Potter, fierce but fair. Sister Act, makes the jovial man smile. Downton I could keep going. Maggie Smith, solid fucking answer.

So what are your family like?

Women. Women who raise women to be great fucking women. Oh and my grandad but he’s gone now, he was a man’s man. Whatever that is.

It’s going well, but I’m sweating like I do on a Saturday night in Heaven. The bottle green shirt was a bad idea. I feel gross.

It ends, handshakes all around. Thank’s we’ll be in touch.

I leave.

I head back home after pulling a sicky at the insurance place I currently work at which is chipping away at my very core daily.

I hear nothing that day, I think it went well. Did it? I mean I was there long enough to be asked about my life. No interest in the fact that I haven’t done this before, I just really want to.

Alarm clock, back to the Insurance shithole.

The office lights give me such intense migraines that I’ve had to have the ones above my desk removed. The CEO hates me because I ask for things. White cocaine fuelled Tory dick head of a man. That’s not a man’s man.

My mobile rings, unknown number. It’s her. I got the job. I cry when she hangs up. I walk straight to my bosses desk. I’m off, here’s my notice.

I tell my cousin. I helped get her the insurance job because it was easy and straight out of Uni, I hate myself for leaving her here, but I tell her. She smiles but there is sadness in her eyes. Leaving the closest thing I have to a sister behind in a job that we both hate. But I have to be selfish this one time. It changes nothing between us. That indestructible bond. It’s there forever.

She arranges going away gifts. The other women in the office chip in, so does the working class dude that trained me, and the bi guy and the other dude that wants to fuck me because his dick is a gay cure.

It’s sweet. But I’m so happy.

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