Killer outfit on? Check. Resume on point? Check. Bowl of cereal? Check. All that was left was to find out what was in store for me today. Pulling out my phone, my horoscope app front and center. ‘If someone is pushing your buttons today, you just need to roll your eyes and let them do it. It’s not that big a deal, really. Your good energy is best for focusing on the stuff that matters.’

How can people not believe in horoscopes? My horoscope has never led me astray. Not when it led me to finding out that my boyfriend cheated on me with my ex-best friend, or even when it was time I quit my old job. Getting a Taurus tattoo was the best decision I’ve ever made. Now I was trusting that today’s horoscope will give me insight into how my interview will play out. Placing my bowl in the sink, I give one my bangs one final spritz of hair spray before heading out.

Somehow, I expected ‘Dress and Co.’ to be more…upbeat? This building reminded me of that sitcom about a paper company. Large block windows with a gray concrete exterior. This was as far from ‘dressy’ and ‘fancy’ as one could get. Making my way inside, a woman who reminded me far too much of Dolly Parton sat behind a desk.

“How can I help ya sweet pea?” Pulling my resume from my oversized purse, I slide it across to her. “My name’s Kara and I have my interview here today. I’m a few minutes early.” Watching her fingers fly over the keys, it’s starting to make me nauseated. Of course that could just be my nerves. She shakes her head. “I’m sorry hun, but there’s no mention of you in the system.” I’m not sure what to say. The extroverted part of me would demand she check again. It could’ve just been a simple mistake. But I don’t want to be rude either. She seems more than capable of scanning through a simple list of appointments. The words fall from my mouth before I have a chance to grab them and stuff them back down.

“Can you check again?”

“Sweetheart, I can assure you. You were not on the list. Now please, I have list of tasks to do today that are taller than me. Don’t push my buttons.” Without giving me another moment of her time, she resumes to the endless stack of papers vying for her attention. Becoming suddenly invisible to this woman, I take a seat in the corner of the room. What do I do now? It’s not like I can push my way through. I don’t even know what floor Matilda is on. The clock in the corner officially sits perfectly on the ten. I should be upstairs selling my designs, not sitting here like a sitting duck.

Just as I’m about to demand for a third time, a middle aged woman hastily walks through the room, her polished red heels click-clack-click-clack across the hardwood. Her hair is colored a shade that’s definitely artificial. No one could have auburn hair like that while also having a wrinkled turkey neck. Reaching for a complementary water bottle, her eyes pierce through me as she sips. I take a deep breath, offering her a smile. She doesn’t return any sort of friendliness. Reaching for my purse, I make my way outside so I can contemplate why I’m so deathly afraid of confrontation. Out on the bench, traffic bustles by as I stare out at nothing in particular.

“Nice outfit.” It’s the scowl faced woman from inside. Her lips return to a fine line the second I meet her stare. Is this woman Matilda? Should I hand her my resume? Beaming, I pat my skirt down. “Thank you!” Rolling her eyes, she gives a sarcastic laugh. “Oh my god, did you really think I meant that? That outfit is so early ninety’s. Do you know what fashion is?” Before giving me a chance to come back with a comeback -not that I actually had one- she returns back to the air conditioned building. With my hopes officially dashed, I pick up what self respect I still have on reserve and head out towards the palm tree covered sidewalk. As the sound of my heels create some much needed distance, I find the first available bench that won’t give me a third degree burn on contact.

Was that woman really right? Is my outfit that awful? Am I really-

“I like your outfit.” I didn’t even realize the woman sitting next to me. Wearing a black and white polka dot dress, a matching polka dot ribbon hangs from her ponytail. Excitedly, she points to my shoes. “Especially those. That shade of blue really makes a statement.” I had the same thought this morning when I was planning out my outfit.

“Thank you. I was afraid they’d be too much.” Waving away my insecurity, she shakes her head. “No, these are seriously amazing. I’m Lauren, by the way.”

“Kara. It’s nice to meet you.”

A quiet moment passes before she speaks again. “Do you anything about fashion?” Her question surprises me and I’m afraid she’s going to somehow make a snide remark like the turkey neck did. But Lauren has a much friendlier face. “I know fashion trends like the back of my hand,” I say proudly. “I was actually supposed to be interviewing at ‘Dress and Co.’ earlier today, but it didn’t exactly go according to plan. I didn’t even get past the receptionist.” A grimace crosses her face. “‘Dress and Co.’ is a horrible business, run by some of the crudest, snarkiest bitches I’ve ever met.” Laughter escapes my lips. “Trust me,” she says, reaching for her sunglasses. “You dodged a bullet with that place. I worked there for three years and they were without a doubt, the worst years of my life.”

“What do you do for work now?”

Leaning in, she acts as if she’s about to disclose a government secret. “Fashion. Through my time in that hellhole, I did learn some master techniques. After they fired me for not being ‘trendy’ enough, I decided to create my own company.”

I wish I had her ambition. I’m more of a ‘behind the scenes’ type of girl. Designing is where I really shine. Breaking me from my inner monologue, Lauren grabs my arm. “Come work for me! You have just the kind of determination that I’m looking for at my company. If you were willing to subject yourself to those ‘Dress and Co.’ snarks, that’s more than enough proof for me that you’re a hard worker.”

“Are you serious?”

“Are you serious about your love for fashion?”

Weighing the pros and cons, my horoscope repeats itself inside my mind. ‘Your good energy is best for focusing on the stuff that matters.’ Fashion is what matters to me. It’s my life. Feeling optimistic, I accept her offer. Pulling out a piece of scrap paper from her purse, Lauren writes her phone number for me. “Give me a call and we’ll set up all the details! This is going to be so much fun!”