Promise You'll Love Me Forever

Dear Mr. Climett L. Sworts,

I’m sorry, this department can not accept your request to work in the new clothing factory cleaners. We feel the attempt to promote you at this time would not be a benefit to us or to yourself. Judging by your latest test results...

I quickly ripped the sheet of paper that I had pulled from my mailbox earlier this morning. I was appalled, disappointed and angry at the response, and could only clench my fists in desperation. Leaning my back against the refrigerator door, I stood alone in my kitchen wondering why I was rejected, feeling ashamed and confused.

Can you imagine what my coworkers will say? What they will think? I can almost see the expression on their faces now.

I have to think of something, and think of it fast. I mean, really, it’s the easiest thing in the world. Anyone can package clothes. Besides, I’ve been doing it for years. Almost five years now, but it feels like weeks. Funny how time flies. I remember when all you had to do was fill out an application, get hired, work 30 days, and... you’re in.

It’s time I take a stand, make a change.

I’ve had enough with being patient, waiting for nothing; right versus wrong; fortunate against unfortunate; I thought to myself, feeling inadequate, angry with the world.

Let’s see... tests are taken on Tuesday nights, then two days for orientation. So within those two days, Wednesday and Thursday, tests are corrected, then place on file in Mr. Chase’s office. He keeps them in his huge tan file cabinet packed against the far left corner wall, next to his glass table. He’ll wait about a week, then start calling new employees. I’ll have to switch my name with someone who has passed.

A few days later, on Wednesday night...

Climett catches his reflection in the mirror... dark brown eyes, dark hair that hangs about an inch off of my scalp, even skin tone, honey brown complexion, approximately 5'9'’ to 5'11" with a solid build and medium muscle tone, he weighed nearly 200 pounds. His steps shook the floor where he stood 7 feet away from his mirror, which was nailed tight up against the wall.

He holds a pair of navy blue janitor pants close to his hips. Intent on dressing himself, he fastens his pants, then tosses a white tee shirt over his head, almost forgetting his coat. Just as he was about to step out the front door, he remembered. He began looking through his closet when his eyelids opened wide. He exhaled in relief as he found that old black leather jacket of his with no zipper.

"Hmmm" Here it is. And an indigo janitors apron draped over a hanger. A pair of working gloves sat on the top shelf, peeking out of a red Nike shoe box. Reaching for the gloves and apron, Climett squeezes his arms through his leather coat sleeve and then shoves the apron and gloves into his back pocket.