The Worst Idea Ever

He was walking along the street when I spotted him for the first time, it was morning rush hour on a typical warm sunny July day.  City centre sidewalks were full of commuters and plenty wore a knee length summer dress, strappy sandals, little shoulder bag and a deceiving no make-up look as was the seasons fashion which added up to a real a cute look as the office workers hurried  along carrying their coffees. Pale floral knee length summer dress apart Man in a Dress had a much more individual look, one all of his own.

———//———

I had been sitting in the JobCentre waiting area a few minutes when Man in a Dress took a number from the ticket machine then sat in a seat a row in-front of me. From my seat I had a clear yet oblique view of Man in a Dress and like a French fashion critic I examined him in more detail; thirty-six hour shadow, number 4 possibly 5 buzzcut, mens Adidas classics, black ankle socks. Clearly visible through the thin summer dress material were his striped boxers and a red bra which completed his look.

My ticket number came up and I took up position in a booth, a glass partition with intercom separated the me from the advisor as if unemployment were a communicable disease. On my side of the screen the unemployed were separated by small glass screens as if being overheard by our jobless neighbours would somehow shame us into employment.

I passed my work-seeker booklet through the slot and our interview began as my advisor went through my previous weeks activities. 

‘Some job-seekers have been inventing job applications and companies, purposely listed wrong telephone numbers and had phantom interviews’ the advisor said ‘now everyone has to pay the price, there is a new booklet and starting Monday we check every entry’ 

It was a thinly disguised warning and I accepted it as such, I had done all of those things and plenty more besides. My advisor left me sitting while he went in search of what would be my new and improved work-seeker book. As I waited Man in a Dress took up position next booth along, no work-seeker booklet changed hands at his booth and, like it or not, I could clearly hear his conversation:

‘Have you been looking for work recently?’ Advisor 2 said as she filled in a form

‘Yes’ Man in a Dress said

‘And you will continue looking for work for the next twelve weeks?’ Advisor 2 said without looking up as she ticked boxes on page two of the form.

‘Yes’ Man in a Dress said

‘Wait there a minute while I get a supervisor to stamp this form then you are all done’

Man in a Dress glanced over at me and smiled the smile of an adolescent mountain beaver remembering a night at a comedy club and said ‘tada’ without any attempt at including an exclamation or even a rising inflection.

———//———

Concealing myself amidst a cough of smokers I casually hung around on the sidewalk waiting for Man in a Dress to emerge then I fell in beside him as he walked casually without any obvious purpose almost as if he expected to be engaged in conversation by a short person or asked for directions to some distant place.

‘It’s shit in there, and these new work-seeker books’ I said as a conversation starter while I waved the booklet  

‘OK lets get this done’ Man in a Dress stopped, paused, looked into the narrow alleyway then took another four steps then turned to face me, ‘go on ask your question…’ 

‘I wasn’t listening, well it’s hard not to hear, tell me to mind my own…but…how did you pull that twelve week stroke?’

‘The interview? That’s why you waited for me?’ Man in a Dress said ‘that’s a new one’ he tapped his sides as if absentmindedly searching for trouser pockets ‘…no fucking pockets…you smoke?’ I shook my head, ‘lets walk, were still a bit close to that alley’

‘What’s with the alley, someone after you?’

‘Dark alley like that, no telling what could be waiting in ambush, pigeon, troll…could be literally any unimaginable fucking thing’

I put our teas down on the cafe table, he had said the price of his secret was a cup of tea and a bacon butty. 

‘This is strictly between us right?’ He said and I nodded my agreement ‘if a dozen suddenly turn up dressed like me the’ll sus us all out’

Thinking of an episode of Colombo on TV I studied my mug of tea while he finished eating — a man reveals more on a full stomach I had learnt in one episode.

‘The answer to your question is right before you’ Man in a Dress waved his arms just like a genie materialising from a puff of smoke does, ‘for a while, just like you, I had to go to interviews, keep a record of job searches, the whole six yards. When I began arriving at interviews and at the JobCentre dressed like this they lost interest, where is the point in sending someone like me to interview for burger flipper or shop worker’ Man in a Dress stared down at the ghost of tea in his mug. 

Expecting there was more to come I ordered us refills. Suitably lubricated by a fresh mug of tea Man in a Dress continued ‘understand it’s a tactic not without some drawbacks…’

Man in a Dress went on to provide a full on shirkers guide, not that I’m a shirker. I just need a little financial support until my business becomes profitable enough. Things got really hard really fast when I lost my job and I began making hippy jewellery from wire, string, beads bits of plastic — the sort of stuff that costs nothing but a can sell online for a shekel or two and it’s become a bit of a dream to have my own business.

Back to Man in a Dress’s plan, everything seemed so simple and it really is going to be foolproof if I think it through properly. Next week I arrive at the JobCentre wearing just a little bit of eyeshadow, drip, drip, drip is my plan — little by little until I am also unemployable…well Man in a Dress has already pulled the man suddenly in a dress stunt. My plan is to add a little at a time until I’m making interviewers just as uncomfortable as Man in a Dress, only until my jewellery thing takes off of course. 

———//———

Next time I visit JobCentre I add in a little eye colour. Even though I’ve been watching YouTubes and can do my eyes as good as any onscreen influencer I purposely ham it up. One eyeliner slightly uneven, a bit missing on one eye, slightly bigger area of blue on one eye, a day one or two level of skill. The advisor told me to read my notes from my job-seeker book, I can feel his eyes on me, I can hear sounds of him making notes. 

Like an early birthday gift my advisor begins outlining a work experience scheme that I am required to undertake as I do not have enough interviews booked and he asks what type of placement I would prefer — retail or factory.

Everyone hates the three day labour placements, the JobCentre pretend they are to get us back into the routine of going to work whereas they are schemes set up by companies to exploit free labour. My advisor is taken aback when I ask for something in retail, ‘something like a charity shop where I can feel useful, as if I am contributing’ I say.

My surprised advisor shuffles a file then he holds a typed sheet up to the glass screen for me to read, ‘these charities need volunteers…why don’t you pick one?’ 

And I do. I pick the shop that I pass every time I walk to the post office, the one full of racks of clothes.   An endless source and first dibs on cheap clothes and a way better placement than some sweat-shop factory or supermarket. I don’t do the usual turn up and mope about instead I’m waiting outside the shop first morning. No task is too menial to dampen my spirits — I wipe down shelves, dust ornaments, shuffle music CD’s into order, colour sort a mens clothes rack.

‘I wish I could work here every week’ I say lunchtime on day three ‘sitting in my room day after day sucks’

‘You really mean that?’ the store manager Kanako says, I nod in agreement, ’I can ask the people at the JobCentre for you if you would like’ 

I like Kanako, she is about a half generation older than me, well, perhaps a full generation in bright light and super nice. So nice I occasionally found myself wishing I was a bit older or Kanako a bit younger. Perhaps a little of each — meet halfway if you will. Kanako is nice enough for me, in my daydreams, to wish this was a proper company and for me to wish she was my manager in that imaginary proper company.

To be honest I was a little mean to Kanako to begin with, in my defence I was not trying to be mean but testing boundaries. Initially I had arrived faceless (that’s what CuteGirl on YouTube calls her make-up-less self) once I had settled in I tried a rookie face job to test Kanako’s reaction, then I did a proper eye job at lunchtime and next day I arrived with a full on CuteGirl face. Kanako and the other shop volunteers took it all in their stride as if nothing could be more natural.

Wednesday to Friday became my regular days then I began working Saturdays as they were so busy in the shop…OK…working Saturdays because I wanted to. 

In hindsight I realise I should have gone straight at it like Man in a Dress did, while we were all strangers, having gotten to know Kanako and the other part time volunteers taking the next step was feeling daunting but I really needed to begin stepping it up. I needed to be ready for an interview that’s looming up at a frozen food depot. That place has struck terror, and often frostbite, in every unemployed person for lightyears, they don’t interview people just tell them when they are to start.

‘Would it be all right if I wanted to take some women’s clothes as my allowance this week…’ I let the sentence hang in the hope Kanako would rescue me in some way.

Kanako smiled, her eyes full of that same ‘I’ll do anything’ look that a beagle has seconds after it finishes it’s favourite dinner, ‘of course you can, why don’t you choose a few things while the others at lunch’ 

Just like when money is handed over to a pavement princess and sex is expected Kanako had handed over women’s clothes to me and wearing is expected.

Shop policy was that volunteers could have a couple of items free each week. Kanako said ‘you didn’t take much last week, why not choose a complete outfit, no, take two’

I was about to cross an imaginary narrow and one way foot bridge over a deep and wide chasm, a bridge that had a brown turnstile at the entrance designed to prevent bridge crossers from becoming bridge uncrossers. 

Man in a Dress had warned me of the purpose for the turnstile. The JobCentre employ a team of investigators whose sole purpose is to search for people secretly working or even people being a man in a dress part-time in order to avoid work.

———//———

Picking my outfits had both benefits and drawbacks. The shop was quiet and I managed to try-on plenty of things, I had first pick of clothes donations that had ben unpacked and racked ready to go on the shop floor I soon had two complete outfits, all of these things were benefits. 

The bridge with its turnstile and plucking up courage to wear the clothes next day were drawbacks.

That first morning I imagined Kanako had pre-warned my coworkers as they went about their lives as if I had always been various degrees of woman from neck to toe. One should never change hats mid-stream so sticking with my easing-in plan seemed to be the way to go. 

I wore my usual face, white blouse with a large flower design and, paying homage to Man in a Dress, an emerald green bra that clearly showed through my blouse in-between the flowers. Next on the way down came mens front pleat, easy leg trousers with turn-ups, knee high stockings and women’s square toe flats. My look was completed by my new skin fade, long fringe haircut…I was on the way to my unemployable target look. 

Next day I swapped — male shirt and skirt and sneakers with…black ankle socks another homage to Man in a Dress. 

Confidence building on Saturday, the busiest day in the shop, I left the remnants of maleness at home and tried out what would be my new look; summer swing dress with show through coloured underwear, pantyhose, a shoulder purse and white ballet flats. Out on the street people occasionally looked as if to ensure their eyes functioned correctly before, neither quickly or slowly but at a usual speed, loosing interest. I stopped in at a coffee shop for a carry out then on to work, once again no issues.

———//———

My JobCentre advisor gave me a pre-interview pep talk, not as I had hoped about clothes to wear at an interview but about interview techniques. He did not seem to even notice that my face was way too nighttime for ten in the morning, ignored my fumbling to put something in my purse and avoided my best laid pronoun traps by addressing me by name. I began to feel nervous that I might not be able to pull my plan off.

Thankfully the interview at the frozen food depot served as reassurance to my waning confidence, the interviewer was clearly amused and clearly took pleasure as he switched pronouns back and forth sentence by sentence and sometimes within a sentence, ‘we’ll let you know’ he cough-giggled ‘if we ever have an opening that might suit you’

I felt on a real high, I was pulling it off. By failing to be offered a job I had become a new and improved, unemployable Man in a Dress. I was Man in a Dress 2…and it was oooh-sooo easy. 

Man in a Dress’s advice rang clear in my head and I quickly settled into a routine. Mens clothes at home and only after changing into women’s clothes, putting face on would I go out. Then when I came home I would take face off, change back into mens clothes. Little by little I started to find the whole changing thing too much effort as lots of people do when a new routine becomes a bit of a chore. Having been through all of that  rigmarole for a while I fully understood why men wear the same clothes all day, all the endless and pointless changing, make-up on, change, make-up off began to get me down. 

I started a new routine so obvious I that I could not understand why it took so long to come up with the idea.

If I am going out at any time during a day I wear women’s clothes as soon as I get up. If I am indoors all day then it’s mens clothes. How obvious is that? Rather than have my mates wrongly think I was wearing women’s clothes for some ridiculous reason such as liking wearing them I fully explained my new and improved plan. 

The four of us were playing an online game together when, just like a cobra distracting a penguin, Jimmy said ‘so where have you been today then?’

‘Had to get milk’ I lied

‘You already drunk that gallon jug you bought yesterday?’ Dave ejaculated. 

I clipped and while making tea for everyone I enlisted a couple of fingers from one hand as I totalled up how many times I had been out since last Saturday night while wondering about how many times I had worn mens clothes…well most are in the wash. 

And a dress is comfy for luxuriating at home I thought, then wondered why I had even considered needing an extra reason.

———//———

“I have an interview Friday afternoon Kanako…P-laytimes, a new superstore opening on the retail park’ I said

‘That’s good news, any store would be lucky to get such a hard worker’ Kanako said ‘take the whole day off if you like’

‘It’s not until afternoon, can I work until lunch?’ I said and Kanako nodded in agreement.

‘You should wear heels, not those flats, for an interview’ my coworker Pam said ‘…you know there is a nice business type suit just come in that should fit you’ then, as if Pam was pleased with her suggestion, she added ‘have you worn heels before?’

Which is how came to be wearing heels at home, which is when Jimmy insisted I was a crossdresser despite my mansplaining how I was practising for an interview. Laughing, Jimmy said ‘being a crossdresser just to make sure you don’t get a job offer?’

‘You need practise to build up strength in your ankles’ I said trying to make it sound casual

‘He is right, I remember my sister practising indoors…you can be such an idiot at times Jimmy’ Dave said in my defence.

———//———

For once the bus arrived on time and I arrived at P-laytimes on time, the store was in the final stages of preparing for opening. Shop-fitters had left and women that I assumed were going to be the sales assistants were busy filling the racks. From what I could see as I waited P-laytimes was a cross between a sex shop and a dance wear studio but on steroids. 

The pencil skirt of my suit and heels combined ensured I took short steps, before I sat The Manager said ‘you probably noticed how our sales associates are easy on the eye, what dress size are you…ten, twelve?’

I blushed ‘This suit is a ten’ My interview lasted a short enough time for me to feel confident that The Manager was just being kind. My Man in a Dress 2 look had worked. 

Seemingly out of kindness, or perhaps as a way to work me towards the exit The Manager took me for a look around the store, ‘we expect our sales associates to wear clothing from the rails, when customers see them being worn they can better imagine themselves or their partner wearing them around the house…’ The Manager held up a playsuit of the style many wear at home on a hot summer day, ‘nothing too bedroom…’ 

As we walked in the direction of the front of the store The Manager took a leather skirt from a rack ‘…or like this…or a costume you know, saucy nurse, police woman, maid, that sort of thing or perhaps some latex on a cooler day’ 

Following interview companies file a report with the JobCentre and to make sure the JobCentre received a satisfactory report I enthused about the store and the clothing as we neared the exit.

‘Would you like the job?’ The Manager said with a smile.

———//———