Until Tuesday, Forty One

Safa Bakırcı

Making my way down the half flight, I find the hallway while gathering my bearings.

A gentleman exiting the green room heads my way then stops a short distance before me. “What the hell happened to you? Rough interview?” Then he laughs and walks away.

I duck into the lavatory to find I look like a disheveled mess. I finger comb my hair, wash my face and do the best I’m able with my clothing.

The reflection in the mirror asks, interview?

I wonder what position I was hoping to fill. Damn if I can remember anything.

I head for the Famous room and as I cross the threshold, I’m met by staff members creating a wall of bodies.

“Sorry Sir, your assigned Tuesday has passed.” One states.

“He’s with me. Let him pass.” A familiar voice chimes in.