Another slow trek to the cafe of lost souls beckoned, as Molly shuffled along the crabby sidewalk.   The early morning shift was by far the loneliest, attended by insomniacs, post-night shift workers and the homeless, including 'Sweetie' to whom she had grown attached, a vagrant old lady who had lived on the streets forever and usually one of the first to call in, desperate for an espresso fix and a considerable slouch on the cafe sofa.  The job was only ever meant to be temporary, but some three years later, Molly was now a permanent fixture, waiting tables on a rota basis.

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With little energy left for the day ahead, Molly made her way back home, weaving through shoppers that crowded the pavement.  ‘Sweetie’ never did show and it was natural to imagine her lying in a gutter somewhere, robbed of the meagre amount made from panhandling, or maybe even dead.  Shopping was certainly the furthest from her mind until her eyes were drawn to a pair of designer heels in some random shop window, a flashy style for one who generally wore flats with laces. Such was the appeal, she stepped inside the boutique, furnished with old wood and illuminated by the smallest of light bulbs, misrepresented by the storefront.

“Hello, is there anyone there?” Molly said.

An older lady appeared from behind a flimsy, threadbare curtain. “Can I help you?” she said.

“Yes, I was just curious about the pink shoes in the window, what size are they please?”

“Let’s see,” the older lady said, reaching into the display cabinet to examine them, but found no markings. “Why don’t you just try them on,”

“Thank you,” Molly said, removing her moccasins.

She slipped one foot in and then the other and walked towards the full-length mirror where the elderly lady was stood.  Whilst looking down to check the fit, the corresponding reflection was of a completely different scene and she found herself in some busy office, surrounded by young people, talking over each other.  Molly was then beckoned to the board room, something about not being late for a meeting.  Swept up by an unfamiliar world of corporate chaos, she sat down among ‘colleagues’, confused by everything all at once.

‘Daisy’, as per the woman’s name tag, nudged Molly in the ribs, “You’re up next,” she said. 

“What?” Molly said, leaping up towards the glass doors, fleeing down the corridor and into the ‘assistant manager’s office’- her own domain, apparently. 

Daisy followed on behind.  “What are you doing? they are waiting for you,” she said.

“I don’t feel well,” Molly said, all the while, staring at the shoes that were now stuck to her feet, as if they had formed a suction.

“Aargh,” Daisy grumbled, as she stormed out, clutching a notepad and pen.

 

Molly stared fixatedly at the contents strewn across what was meant to be her own desk.  Papers and documents were piled high, the contents of which made absolutely no sense.  There were framed photographs of she with husband and two children, all veritable strangers, and a certificate in accountancy.

“Jeez, I can’t even figure out basic maths,” Molly said to no-one.

The telephone was ringing and ringing and Molly shuffled back on the leather chair and away from it as if the thing was about to combust.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hey, Molly – I have a new customer on the line, wanting to discuss an accounts job,”

“I’m actually in a meeting, just popped back into the office for a file, so can you take a message please?”

She slammed the receiver down, near to tears and about to abscond to the ladies when Daisy breezed back into the office, not expecting to see Molly who she assumed had left.

“I’ve took notes as best I could, might not make much sense, but...”

“Thank you.  I feel a little better now, I think I just got a little overheated,”

“So, you coming to lunch?”

“I suppose,”

 

The canteen was another rogue adventure, sat on a big table with more colleagues, some from other branches, rambling on between sandwich bites. They may as well have been talking in a different language as Molly tried to appear interested and responsive to a sea of mouths asking questions – ‘could you set this up, type that, organise a conference, calculate x and y, pop across the city tomorrow to discuss’ etc.

Daisy was looking across the table, now convinced that Molly was in another world entirely.

“You should get yourself off after dinner,” she mimed.

 

It was a terrifying thought to assume that beyond the four walls could be just as incomprehensible, if not worse, but there was no way she could even begin to pay credence to such an unfathomable situation.  Molly left her seat to go back to her desk and invade the drawers in the hope of finding a handbag with money and maybe even a mobile phone to face another chapter of the  ‘Weird Quandaries’ notebook.  She grabbed a coat from behind the office door before making her way out, bypassing the lifts and down several flights of stairs. The main entrance was a menagerie of sliding doors which led out to an unfamiliar street and as she glanced from left to right, began to panic - what if this was her fate, spiraling forever in a false identity loop or her brain had been scrambled by some kind of tumour.  Dizzy and sweating buckets beneath a fur-lined Armani jacket, Molly lost her footing and stumbled headlong onto hard concrete.

“Are you okay miss?” a passer-by said.

“Yes, I think so,” she said, brushing her grazed knees through laddered stockings.

The shoes were now strewn across the pavement outside the café where the god-awful day began. It was now obvious, though totally unbelievable to consider that they were in fact responsible for the transformation in some twisted nightmarish way. The passerby helped her to her feet, and she then grabbed the heels and walked towards the shop from whence they came, with a proverbial axe to grind.

Undeterred by the ‘closed’ sign, she fist-thumbed the door hard and fast. “Hello, please I need to come in,”

“Could you come back tomorrow?” the old lady said through the glass.

“No, I need to talk to you now,” Molly said, holding up the shoes.

The old lady released the latch to let her in. “I take it they are not suitable?” she said.

“Suitable?” Molly said. “I’ve been fuck knows where,”

The old lady pointed towards two chairs side by side in the corner of the store.  “Please take a seat,” she said.

Molly sat down, exasperated and desperate for any kind of explanation.

The old lady turned to face Molly just as a particular memory reverberated from the morning shift at the café. She was on her millionth customer who just happened to be some stuffy lady who had sauntered in because her favourite barista gaff was closed and she needed coffee before functioning on any level.

“Give me a straight flat white, the best you do, right?”

Molly was imagining several retorts, including the ‘extra hot’ service to stem the woman’s desperation to slate caffeine.

“There you go,” she said, slapping the cup down on the counter.

As the woman left the café, a male customer who was sat close to the counter, acknowledged the struggle.

“That’s where I’d like to be, instead of this shithole,” Molly said.

“I doubt it,” he said.

The lady then patted Molly’s lap. “Be careful what you wish for,” she said.

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