“Suraya, we need to talk,” Jessie says one cold – way too early – morning.
“What’s up?” I ask.
She looks a bit stressed as she crouches down by my desk. “We’ve got an author coming in, it’s a bit late notice but we have four days so that’s fine. Now, I need to brief you on how to set up for the meeting so grab your notebook and let’s go to the kitchen, if you’re not too busy?”
I look between her and my computer screen, currently showing my Twitter page. I’d just found a really funny cat gif. “Not busy at all.”
“Have you read any of Denise Bertam’s books?”
Is that a trick question? “Uh, a few,” I lie.
“Great, let’s go and chat about a task I need you to do.”
When we sit down at a table, Jessie spitfires instructions like she’s on the mic. #jheez
It occurs to me I should’ve been writing this all down five minutes in so I start scribbling as fast as I can.
*
I end up staying a tad later than I mean to and realise at 5.45 that I’m meant to be in Queensway for 6. I’m rushing down the side of our floor where the filing cupboards line the walls when suddenly the end of my flowy grey hijab – I was going for the chic city hijabi look today – catches on the edge of a filing cabinet door. I stumble, jerking forward and choke. What the hell? I fall back, grabbing at the scarf tangled around my neck – AND OH MY GOD THERE IS AIR ON MY HEAD.
I gasp and touch my head. There’s hair. Out. Hair. Out. HAIR. SHOWING. The whole thing HAS JUST SLIPPED OFF.
I try to untangle myself but my scarf is wedged between the cabinet doors and I can’t pull it up to cover my head because THE DAMN THING IS STUCK IN A BLOODY FILING CABINET OF ALL THINGS.
I look around and see Rebecca look up just in time to catch my eye. Her eyes bug open.
“Help!” I mouth.
Rebecca jumps up and rushes over. Kay, one of the assistants who sits opposite us turns around as Rebecca hurries and gasps. She jumps up and comes over.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” Kay asks.
“Please help me get my scarf out!” THIS IS SO EMBARRASSING.
The three of us try to untangle me from the cabinet that just won’t open. We manage to pull my scarf free – it tears – and throw it back over my head.
Kay and Rebecca look like they don’t know if they should laugh or offer their condolences.
“Are you okay?” Rebecca asks. “How on earth did it fall off?”
“I don’t even know, how did a filing cupboard just take my hijab off?” I want to die.
“It wasn’t closed properly,” Kay says. “How it caught your scarf like that though is insane.”
Why do ridiculous things happen to people who pay their taxes? “I’m gonna go to the bathroom and put this back on properly.”
They both nod as I rush off to the bathroom. Ten years I’ve been wearing hijab and a PIECE OF FURNITURE decides to uncover me in public. Did anyone else see? Most people have left, thank God. Ugh.
My scarf is a complete wreck when I look in the mirror. I’ve got two bobby pins in my mouth and am just wrapping it around my head again when Kay comes in.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
MY HIJAB JUST GOT PULLED OFF BY A FLIPPING CABINET. “I am just great.”
The Good Assistant 