“Well Ms Phillips,” said her interviewer as he tried to wrest his gaze from her 44 inch bosom and tiny waist, “you have by far the best qualifications for the job of any of the candidates, but I am afraid I can’t offer it to you. Having you on the staff would damage the image of our company too much.”
Cheryl has had such interviews at least six times recently. She was increasingly regretting her wild previous life, when her exploits had regularly filled the pages of the red tops, and the operations to enhance her bust and make her face more attractive but also more distinctive.
“Is there really no way you can let me take the job?” she pleased. What if I could change my appearance?”
“You would have to change so much that no-one would ever recognise you. If you can do that the job is yours,” came the unexpected reply.
“I don’t know how I can do that, but please give me a few days to try,” asked Cheryl.
“OK. You have a week. Then I must appoint someone,” replied the manager.
“If I don’t come back this time a week today, you can forget about me,” responded Cheryl, getting up and leaving the office.
As she drove back to her flat she thought about the possibilities. Surgery was out of the question in the time so she could do nothing about her figure, and anyway after wearing a corset so long her back and breasts needed the support. She could do nothing about her face either. It was hopeless.
A coach pulled beside her as she waited at the lights. Cheryl glanced up and was surprised to see looking down at her a row of faces completely veiled except their eyes. And they were all wearing white rather than the black she so often saw in the streets. Obviously a coach tour from some Asian country.
It was not until she was parking the car in her drive that Cheryl realised that, the way those women had been dressed, it was impossible to recognise them. Could she cover herself up so much that no-one would know who she was?
A quick internet search showed her that it was easy enough to buy veils like the women had been wearing, along with all-covering dresses and cloaks. She thought of herself dressed in such all-enveloping clothes, completely anonymous. If it was a way to escape from her past life it might just be worth it. She looked at prices on e-bay and bought several items which together would enable her to try the idea out.
The next two days seemed to last for ever. It had quickly dawned on Cheryl that she could not leave her house dressed like an escapee from an eastern harem, so she looked for a motel somewhere not too far away but close to a town and as cheap as possible where she could spend the night and change into her new outfit before going out in public. If this idea didn’t work she would have wasted some of her meagre savings, but then if she didn’t get a job she would soon be on the streets.
At last the packages arrived and Cheryl was able to set off for the venue for her experiment. When she arrived she settled the bill for two nights so she could leave in the morning without having to identify herself at the desk while veiled.
It took some time to work out how all the parts of her costume worked, but after an hour or so she was able to look in the mirror and see a figure completely covered in white except for the eyes. Someone who knew her really well might recognise her eyes, but she didn’t intend being seen by anyone she knew during her experiment. And because the clothes were shapeless they made her look rather plump rather than big breasted.
Nervously she headed out and got into her car. No-one had noticed her, which was a real change. Soon she was parking in a multi-storey car park close to the town centre. She got out and locked the car, fumbling slightly because she was unaccustomed to wearing the gloves she had decided were necessary to make her outfit convincing. There was no-one else in the car park, and the first person she saw was as she stepped onto the pavement. She certainly got a stare, but there was no sign that she had been recognised and the passer-by passed on by. She got some more looks as she walked around, but no-one seemed perturbed to see her. She went into the closest supermarket to buy something to take back to her room to eat. At the checkout she got a few looks and the assistant made a point of speaking slowly and clearly, assuming that she was a foreigner. She was offered help getting her purchases to her car, just like all the other shoppers, but she declined as she wanted to explore a bit more first.
After an hour or so in which she had received a few interested looks but no comments, she returned to her car and drove back to the motel. The gloves and veil came off fast, and she was soon eating her evening meal,. She felt really comfortable in the rest of the clothes, and she had only removed her veil to avoid getting food on it.
Next morning she decided to be more daring, and drove into her local shopping centre. But again all she got was a few looks. Such a change from being eyed up my every male over the age of 12. But as she walked back to her car she realised that there was a problem. If she left her house dressed like this every day, sooner or later the newspaper photographers would catch on and her cover would be blown. What could she do? She had no money to rent anywhere. She wondered if there was anyone among her friends who she could trust. In the end she decided to risk phoning Theresa and explaining her problem to her.
Theresa’s immediate response was to invite Cheryl round to discuss things. She promised that she would tell no-one. Cheryl was aware that Theresa had not approved of her previous lifestyle, and had chosen her partly because of that as she thought her friend would be pleased to help her mend her ways.
And she was right. Theresa immediately made it clear that she would help Cheryl as long as the aim really was to turn over a new leaf and get a good job. And she was most impressed when Cheryl mentioned her prospective employer. But there was a problem. Theresa’s flat was far too small for both of them.
“After they had been brainstorming ideas without success, a light suddenly shone in Cheryl’s brain.
“You can use my house if I live here. How about that?”
And it was soon agreed. Theresa packed in her car the things she thought she would need, and they both drove to Cheryl’s house, being careful not to be seen as they unloaded. Then Cheryl packed the very few things she would need and they headed back.
“I think I’m getting the best of this deal,” laughed Theresa, as long as I don’t have to buy the house. “All you get is a cramped flat and I get a big house.”
“But I get my freedom and anonymity, and that’s worth much more,” responded Cheryl, “and I’ll get the job.”
So it was that the receptionist at the firm was very surprised a week after the first interview to greet a completely veiled woman who said she had an interview with the boss but didn’t want to give her name. Eventually, Cheryl persuaded the receptionist to phone the man, who, much to the receptionist’s surprise, immediately instructed the receptionist to send Cheryl to his office.
“Come in,” he called, as she knocked. He managed to suppress his surprise at her appearance as he asked “It’s Cheryl, I assume”.
“Yes, it’s me, but I hope it is a different me,” she responded. “You have done me a favour. Dressed like this I can go around without being ogled or chased by photographers. And I really feel like a different person. I want to forget my past even though I will still have this ridiculous figure I paid so much to get. But I still want the job, please.”
“Do you really think you can cope with always being dressed like this?” asked the manager, hoping the answer was yes. He was thinking that it was much easier to carry on a conversation with Cheryl now her spectacular figure was hidden.
“I can’t promise, but I have been wearing these clothes for three days. They are very comfortable. As long as I am not asked to eat in public I am fine. Will you at least give me a chance please?”
“I will certainly give you a chance, but there is one problem,” responded the manager.
Cheryl nearly cried, but her veil prevented her interviewer noticing.
“It’s your name. It is too well known. How do you feel about changing it?”
“If that is all the problem, then I’ll change it to whatever you like. I really want this job,” responded Cheryl nearly laughing out loud. “How about Qendresa” I have a friend called that and it at least starts with the same sound as my name.”
“That’s great, but I think we will need a new surname too. Qendresa doesn’t really go with Phillips. How about Krasniqi? I had an employee called that once. I think she came to the UK during one of the Balkan wars. She was really good at her job. The two names seem to go together, and if you are as good as she was I shall be delighted to have you on board.
And so a veiled Qendresa Krasniqi started work for the company and only her boss and her friend Theresa ever knew any different, though Qendresa quickly realised that there was another reason to behave herself as all her identity documents were in her old name. She was OK as long as she never had to show them. She decided not to ask her boss how he managed to fix things in the company.
The short length of this tale cries out for some more. Who is going to describe where Cheryl/Qendresa’s new lifestyle takes her? Does she meet the sheik of her dreams, or is she seduced by an untrustworthy fundamentalist? Or something completely different?