Heels: making it difficult to get away from unfavorable notice since the 1500’s.

“K.S.A.; knowledge, skills, attitudes” I was told by one of my lecturers that I need to increase mine. Right after my morbid experience of the local GCSE Advanced Level AND getting its results with a shock, I was motivated to find a job. That’s a laugh and a half. A job at 19? With no highlighted qualifications and zero experience at professionalism and armed only with my AL results and a list of stuff I did at school, I was ready. I applied as the only position I thought I could accomplish given that I do not have any professionally qualifications worth mentioning: as a call center agent. 

And there I was, sitting awkwardly at the reception of a prestigious bank in uptown Colombo. Dressed in a white shirt, Black skirt (burrowed from a friend duh.as if I owned a skirt. Get real) clutching my very thin file which held a trivial amount of certificates in it, reminiscing about the conversation I had the day before.  I was having an afternoon snooze when I received their call and of course the brain takes a few prolonged minutes to register what the caller is saying and I was just too sleepy to be excited about the interview and I was all “can’t we reschedule?” obviously the answer was a no. so I was thinking who in their right mind would hire a person who asks to reschedule their interview cuz they were too sleepy. Well apparently I got through. Shockingly. I had aced the interview and was on my way to being a telemarketing associate. Ha ha. I was too shocked to be happy about it though.

One could say it was the beginning of my training. Id says i was learning. I learned how to work an elevator, how to operate that darn touch screen ATM machine, how to fill various bank slips, how to fill weird application forms, make a rapid number of calls while updating inventory and last but not least, to walk in heels. Yes. I admit I was unable to stand steady yet alone actually walk in one of them hideous contraptions but hey, like some wise person once said, when life gives you lemons, make lemon juice out of it. Being a 5 foot 8, I never actually had the need to own one. But believe me when I say, they hurt. Freakin Bad. True, heels make your bum look big and make you walk with your head held high etc etc. But it felt like walking on live coals, except that id be raised a few inches from the ground which is no help what so ever since there are no live coal involved anyway.

I had to walk with extreme cautious. For once in my life I had to actually pay attention to the road I was treading on.  Apart from the random dog poo which we all keep an eye out for, I had to be aware of the little drain holes with bars going through them. One fatal step and the inability to properly bend down in order to get unstuck (because I was wearing a skirt!!) tend to keep one’s mind well-tuned.  The ground had to be perfectly horizontal too. No weird dents etc. And all these MIPs or millions of instructions per second tends to consume a significant of time thus reducing the speed of my journeys. Wanting to save my first allowance I refused to hire an office van and travel by bus. Unwise choice my friend. Unwise.  The resulting ordeal in the bus at office hours is *shudder* not a pleasant experience.

Believe me when I say, I really wanted to deck those shoes and rebel against the authoritative administration by wearing flats. I have enough and more factors to back me up.  Heels make it next to impossible for an attempt at an escape in the event of a fire, or to catch the bus or god forbid, run amuck if and when approached by an assailant or a rabid dog.

From the obvious damsel in distress issues, the health factors of wearing stilettos are unseen but equally dangerous. It causes our bone structure drastic damage. Body weight distributed unevenly forces the weight to focus on the balls of our feet. Not to mention the ankle injuries and spinal aches.

Nuff said. Relived to say, I survived.

Although it was a brief stay, I learned. A lot. I warmly welcomed experience offered by the job and did my best and marked a lucky mile stone of a 100 calls a day by the second week. (including the engaged and the wrong numbers) it was just like school. You get the jerks, the pranksters, the ice cubes, the workaholics, the talketives and the always-yapping-on-the-phone bunch. It was all good though. A variety of people, different backgrounds, various likes and dislikes mixed together formed the Crew.

Suffice to say, I gained new networks. A few, I really could have done without, a few that made me realize that life isn’t over after school. We did the usual goofing about, gossiped, ate like there was no tomorrow although the ‘bunking classes’ part I never got the chance to do. I also wanted to try my toe on the scanning machine to see if it would recognize me but didn’t quite get around to doing that.

It was really one of life’s experiences. A different stage in life where an individual is released out to go, to see, to concur. And I did, enjoy it to the very end. 

the author subsequently lost her fear of heels and now dances the salsa in it.