Skirts, Coffee and Xerox machines

"Look on the bright side," Mariam points out,
"At least you're not cleaning toilets!"

I pour the third cup of coffee and give Mariam a dirty look.

I'm into my second week as an assistant at this PR agency, and so far
all I've done is make endless rounds of coffee, get take-away lunch for
my boss, photocopy flyers and answer calls.

But hey, although I have to wear drab gray suits and killer heels (oh,
for the comfort of my sneakers!) and I get paid peanuts for hard labor,
I'm not complaining: it took me six months to find this job, with a
little help from my aunt's best friend's daughter's husband, and I know
I'm very lucky: most of my friends are unemployed with little chance of
work here.

Mariam, the other student intern here, is my saving grace: if it
weren't for our daily gossip sessions at the coffee maker, I'd have
gone insane a long time ago.

"You know, if you hate it so much, you could always quit," she
says.

I shake my head.

"I couldn't do that. I really need the money and I'm willing to do
anything to keep this job, even if it means scrubbing floors."

Mariam laughs and chews on her gum, "God forbid we ever reach that
point."

A door jerks open and I hear my boss Hashem, egomaniac with a thirst
for dark coffee and short skirts, yell out:

"Salma! MY COFFEE!"

I groan, pick up the smiley-face mug and run into the office, where he
is waiting impatiently.

"Thank you, Salma, but did it have to take all day?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Hashem-"

"Please, call me Hashem-"

Hashem is only 27, and thinks that he's Mr. Big Shot just because he
has his own office. He enjoys bossing me around for the hell of it; but
I'm okay with that, as long as I get paid.

So now he picks up the smiley face mug and stares it in disgust.

"Salma, what is this?"

"A mug, sir?"

"Yes, I can see that, but why is it yellow
with a happy face?"

"I thought&;#8230; you would like some, uh, yellow in your
life?"

"Could we stick to boring black in the future, please?"

"Yes sir."

"Please call me Hashem. Are you going out for lunch?"

I roll my eyes,
" Yes, Hashem, would you like me to get you some Tikka?"

"Actually," he smiles at me,
"I was thinking of coming with you."

"What?"

"How about we get something different this time? I know a nice sushi
place in Zamalek&;#8230;"

Is Hashem making a pass at me?

"I'll, uh, go get you another mug," I turn to run out of the office,
but he calls out to me and says,

"by the way, Salma, you really should let your hair down more
often."

"He said that?" Mariam screeches two minutes later, "he was making a
pass at you!"

"I know, I know," I screech back, "but what do I do? he's my
boss!"

"He's not even cute; have you seen his hands? They're so
feminine!"

"I'm not going to marry him, Mariam, I just think he likes me, that's
all."

Mariam stares at me long and hard, then says,
"It's not a good idea to flirt with your boss, Salma. Things will get
messy."

"Don't worry, I won't do anything stupid."

But five minutes later, I'm in Hashem's office, the door is shut, and
he's sitting next to me, telling me he thinks I'm cute, and he's been
attracted to me for a long time, we're two mature adults so why don't
we have some fun?

Inside I'm screaming, "No, I'm not an adult! I'm still very small and
you're scaring me!"

Then he puts his hand on my knee and says,
"Don't worry. I won't tell anyone about this. I promise it won't
affect our friendship, but it's not like this is going anywhere,
anyway."

I notice for the first time that he has a nice smile, and at least he's
being honest with me, so what's the harm? It won't hurt anybody.

In that split second, as he reaches forward to kiss me, I know that I
can't afford to lose this job, and he could get me a promotion, but
when I said,
"I'm willing to do anything to keep this job", I didn't mean I'd be
willing to do this!
How would I face my parents if they found out? And how could I deal
with the fact that I hadn't earned my promotion, I'd bribed my way to
it?

Before I can make a decision, the door suddenly crashes open, and
Mariam strides in.

"I'm sorry if I'm interrupting anything," she declares loudly as Hashem
springs out of the chair like an Easter bunny,

"but they need Salma outside at the coffee machine."

My face burns up with embarrassment, but Mariam keeps her eyes on
Hashem, and she says,

"Oh and by the way, Mr. Hashem, your fianc?e is on the phone."

I freeze in my spot.

"Fianc?e?"

So much for his honesty.

Mariam walks out of the room, leaving me very confused with my

boss/seducer/ scumbag.

"You have a fianc?e?" I try to speak quietly.

"Yes, so? What difference would it make?" Hashem goes back to egomaniac
mode.

"Had I known, I wouldn't even consider
touching you with a ten -foot pole!"

Suddenly I am very, very angry. I can't believe what I almost got
myself into. Hashem lied to me just to have some fun, he doesn't like
me; he sees me as just another piece of skirt.

How many girls has he tried this on? How many girls have been fooled
into this lie before me?

Hashem gnashes his teeth and snarls like a true villain,
"Stop being so childish, Salma! Don't you know this is all part of the
job? You're not going to get anywhere in this life with those high
principles of yours! You have to sell yourself every now and then to
get what you want! It's all in a day's work!"

I think about it.

I look at him.

Five minutes later, I walk out of the office, leaving Hashem with his
tie stapled firmly to the desk.

The next day, I ask to be moved to a different department, where my new
boss is a 40-year old mother of three.

And now, even though I still work like a slave and still get paid
peanuts, I know that this time round I have totally earned my
pay.

And that helps me sleep at night.