My First Day
It was a hot day, nearly too hot, because my god, it was humid, and I was sick. That awful kind of sick where you aren’t so bad that you can’t get up and do things but so sick that every nerve is alight with fever-like sensitivity. I wanted to grind my fist into my head to stop the pounding, or just give up completely and turn tail.
More than anything I wanted to get this god-awful mask off my face. I was moist with the humidity under it. Each lip was a river of sweat and melted makeup, and I felt even more disgusting than I had at the start of the day, when I was at my most phlegm-filled.
I took every moment I could to use my new handkerchief – The handkerchief had seemed so fancy when I first bought it. I hadn’t realised it was so similar to the loo roll I keep by my bed when I am so ill that a simple packet of tissues is not enough. It catches the sweat and snot and phlegm, and all the other unladylike fluids that expose you as a human in illness. At the end of the day, it really didn’t
matter what cute little pattern you picked out. It was a sweat rag; nothing more, nothing less – One that had required a ridiculous amount of time for me to bring it out before the court of public opinion.
By the fifth hour, the folding fan, again picked so carefully to be beautiful and elegant, would not be admired as I had hoped, but instead used most
utilitarianly. My addled mind just wanted relief. I took it from my bag and dried my face, wafting it under my mask so shamefully.
I could barely face my coworkers whenever I slipped the mask off of one ear, so as to quickly fan my face or take a sip of tea.
It was the highest of sin. The most clear breach of etiquette. How dare I?
And yet…
In these moments, I find myself slapped with the reality of my own insignificance. As another being in a hard-working room, what kind of spotlight points upon me to cause such paranoia? It is funny to realise that it is all in my head. Especially having been prepped for the ever-watching eye since I first heard of the country in which I now reside. A
country where to be acknowledged mildly would cause more panic than if I were to be scolded. But I had mentally prepared for that.
Now no one looked at me with my milky-sick eyes, nor scorned my inability to adapt. They only smiled and offered a quiet word I vaguely recognised. They looked to my work, diligent on my first day even as I am sick, and muttered approvingly. As if the fact I had a mask on my face at all was something to praise. With my disgusting sickness, and the tiny mask keeping it from the world, I have been nothing but warmed by it. Allowances are made with
empathy for a foreigner unfamiliar but willing.
It was all quite overwhelming. I found solace in going over the notes left by my predecessor, muddled and self-referential. Clearly not made for an audience but herself, instead leaving my weary mind quite confused. I read and read until the throbbing in my head eased, taking notes as I did, reminded of my days in study. The mask a familiar weight from that time, when the world was in panic.
By the end of the work day, I trekked down the halls until I reached the shoe cubbies; anticipation buzzed through me. I could practically feel the hairs on my arms stand to attention. I slipped off my little pumps for indoors and pulled out the large black brogues. The backs of my brogues folded underneath me, while someone else’s shoe horn mocked me from the far corner of the room. A cough ripped through me as I bent down to pull the heel out from under me, and I fully pulled my shoes on. Then finally - finally! I was out, into the fresh air!
I ripped the mask from my ears, let the steam retreat from my glasses, and air filled my lungs.
My disgusting, moist face was exposed to the world, but this panic could wait until I got back to my flat and saw myself in the mirror. For now, I could breathe and bask in the freeness. I walked the straight way home, as quick as I could without straining myself. Where my bath awaited, with healing salts and vitamin facemasks in the yellow bulb corner. New masks to take over and soothe me. Gentle caresses to the tightened, furrowed features that had grown stiff over the hours. Trading one mask for another at the end of a long day.