Alto

  Tonight I'm kicked out from a school of performing arts. Officially. Sort of. Yay. Let's celebrate.

  Holy shit I want to cry.

  Let's call this school SPA for the remaining of this perfectly ignorable self-pitying prose because it is very similar to a spa and at the same time very different from it. Both this SPA and the real spa make me sweat profusely. Both make me happy. Both need me to pay to enter. The only difference is I can go for spa anytime I want but now I don't think I can ever set foot at SPA again.

  It shouldn't really bother an ex-prefect who used to play truant so often that she gets a warning letter from school but hey, high school is compulsory. SPA is not. It's something I want so there you go, a distinction is made between these two.

  Munita persuaded me to study at SPA twice. Initially I rejected because it was far, the classes end late and most importantly, I have to pay for it.

  Kill me. I have only signed up and paid for one course this year and that was because I could not resist learning from the first actress in this country.

  Speaking of which, I am quite surprised that this actress-teacher of mine has not expel me yet. Weeks passed and I still have not finish reading that short 200-page article on Shakespeare, and my characterization for Lady Macbeth... I'm working on it. In my head.

  Maybe because I made my payment promptly.

Talking about payment. SPA actually refunds me. They don’t have a refund policy. Just goes to show how serious they are about not wanting me. Even if I'm willing to pay (which is rarer than the rarest steak) they still don’t want to have me around.

 I must be quite amazing, to be so incompetent that people are willing to refund me just so they won't have to see me again. Wow.

   Looking at the money Nick pressed into my hands, I'm not sure if I should be grateful that I don't have to worry about tomorrow's lunch money (or next week’s, or next month’s) or book a bed at the nearest asylum because I am too depressed.

  I met Nick before my first class. During my audition actually. He asked me a number of questions so I thought, of all the people present, he would remember my name. He seemed to be genuinely concerned about me.

  I was so wrong. Like everyone else, he calls me Alto.

  Here at SPA, I am the only student who does not have a name. Everyone goes "yo Nick!", "hey Munita!", "break a leg, Jia Yin!" and so on, but when they need to talk to me they just go "hey, Alto."

  When you are not good enough, you don't have a name. For quite some time I fail to respond when people call me "Harriet" because I'm too alto-fied.

  Tonight Nick calls me by my name for the first time. I suppose he feels guilty for expelling me even though that's the right thing to do.

  It feels strange to remember my name again. Harriet. Is that really my name? It sounds so foreign.

 Harriet. Harriet. H-A-R-R-I-E-T.

  I am Harriet. My name is Harriet. I like to act. I am also a school dropout. Like all school dropout, I am destined to do great things.

  One day, people will  talk about Harriet Jayson like how they talk about Bill Gates. They will remember her as the school dropout that did something so awesome that no one can forget.

  I can see the title in some articles in future history textbooks now.

  "Harriet Jayson : The School Dropout Who Acted As a Tree for 1000 times."

Doraphobia

“Thank you and have a good day,” Nandini says with a standard smile even though the person she is talking to through the phone can’t see it. Sales personnel tend to believe that a person on the phone can hear your smile.

“You choose a right time to be engaged,” her office-neighbour, Ginny says with frustration in her voice.

Nandini feels her blood freezing up.

“Dora called your direct line?”

“Who else?”

“What is it that she wants this time?”

“As usual. Whatever that we did not provide.”

Dora works for CIL, one of their main clients. Also, one of the clients that depresses Nandini mentally that she thinks she needs a place in the asylum. She is easily stressed by the smallest command from her boss such as “coffee please”, and when she is stressed she makes life difficult for Nandini. Or Ginny, when Nandini is fortunate enough to be too busy to tend to Dora’s needs.

Dora might email Nandini for a list of job applicant’s details that she needs at 10.00am and calls her at 10.05am asking Nandini sarcastically why is it that she has not receive the details yet.

“I think this is a very easy task, and I need this. A.S.A.P.,” she says coldly.

To make things worse, she changes her requirements all the time. Yesterday she wanted job applicants with 5 years of working experience. Today she complains about receiving resumes from Nandini where the job applicants have 5 years of working experience because she had told Nandini clearly that she wanted job applicants with 7 years of working experience and she would start complaining about how Nandini never listens. Tomorrow - no idea what she wants - the only thing Nandini and Ginny knows is that she will come up with some way to make their lives more miserable than any characters from Les Miserables.

“I’ll call her back,” Nandini sighs. “But before that, let’s have something nice for lunch.”

“I know what you mean. Let’s have some Japanese food instead of economic mixed rice today. I need Japanese mustard to feel alive again.”

*

Work is a never ending disaster and even a good lunch does not lessen the pain. Dora from Le Smalle calls and speaks in a nervous, worried tone (as usual), requesting two suitable candidates for their hiring needs everyday.

“Two! Everyday! Honestly, what gives her the idea that she is the only client we are serving? We have other clients to service!” Nandini explodes the second she puts down her phone.

Ginny frowns. Her eyebrows almost touch each other.

“We can’t deliver. It’s impossible.”

“If we don’t want to be unemployed, by hook or by crook we have to do it. Sheesh. Why is it that every client named Dora is so annoying?” Nandini mumbles as she slams her keyboard for each alphabet she types.

Both of them walk to the pantry for a coffee break to unwind. At the pantry they catch the smell of animal’s fur.

Nandini and Ginny almost drop their cups of coffee.

The hiring manager from Rocketto is a bossy, anti-PETA lady who loves wearing fur and enjoys visiting Nandini and Ginny from time to time with job orders that make them want to commit suicide.

She is also called Dora.