Special Services Assistant

9:45 am the next morning I was standing outside the offices of Stamford Publishing. The building was what my history teacher would call ‘Victorian neo-gothic’ with fine metal lacework, stone arches and leering gargoyles. I walked in and went to the front desk.

“Yes” said the women at the desk, not Mary (unless her phone voice was very different).

“I’m here for an interview at 10 o’clock” I said “The Special Services Assistant?”

“I’ll tell them your here” said the woman “Please take a seat”

I sat down and started to look through the ‘sample books’ in the foyer. They were the low quality short novellas that people bought in airports and bus stations. Not that I was complaining, I wasn’t being paid in books.

“Becky?” a voice I recognized as Mary asked and I looked up from the book I was flicking through.

“Yes” I said.

“I hear you’ve settled on the Special Services Assistant” she said.

“Yes, but I’m still unsure what the job would entail”

“Oh. Well come with me and I’ll show you.” She said walking into the lift.

I followed her and she pressed the fifth floor button.

“You see” she said as we rode up “We at Stamford Publishing feel it is vital that our books are as accurate as possible in all regards. Special Services is about ensuring that.”

I didn’t really understand. The books I had seen were pulp sci-fi, detective stories and trashy romance. I wondered how they tested the accuracy of how aliens attacked or the finer points of criminology in the 1920s (unless it was a research department which wasn’t really my style).

We reached the fifth floor, Mary put a key in a keyhole that I swore hadn’t been there a minute ago and we stepped out. The hall stretched off in both directions with doors on either side.

“Now the reason we are looking to hire an 18 year old girl” said Mary “is because we are looking to enter the teen market and we need a teen’s perspective.”

“I’m still not sure what the job entails,” I said “Do you want me to read manuscripts and tell you what I think of them, whether I think they accurately portray teenage sensibilities?”

“Oh no,” said Mary “Look I think it’s better if I gave you a little taste of what we’re looking for.”

She opened one of the doors and ushered me through.

Suddenly I was standing in a pink bedroom filled with unicorns and love hearts, I took a moment to get my bearings.

“So, in your estimation, is this what a modern teenage girls bedroom looks like?” Mary asked.

“Not in the slightest” I said trying to work out how I had gone from the fifth floor of a CBD office building to the second level of a suburban house (I could see the other houses through the window).

“What would you change?” asked Mary.

I was about to say that there should be posters and less pink and a hundred other changes that I would make when suddenly they all changed in front of me, becoming exactly what I had conceived. I felt dizzy and even more off balance.

“Wonderful” said Mary “Now your boyfriend will be along any moment to ‘make you a women’ (Do kids still use that euphemism? Another thing I’ll need to check with you after) so I’d better go. Remember we’re looking for accuracy so if you need to change anything do. I’ll be outside once your finished.”

I heard the door close behind me. I turned and realized that the door wasn’t there anymore.

Suddenly there was a tap on the window.