Celtic Maid of Disaster

Grind the beans until they turn as smooth as sand in an hourglass. Pull the lever until the water streams down in an iridescent cascade. Pour the mixture from the pot into the cup elegantly and with a cold expression. Hope that you're not pretty. That is how you survive as a maid

I hated these rules. But I had no choice. I had to keep a low profile, and this was the only option I found. No one like me could get a bigger job. Too much risk. I was a “Special” and dumb name for the way we are treated.

I sighed and waited in the lobby for my turn to interview. There were at least half a dozen other women sitting around me, drinking the stale, weak lobby coffee and chit-chatting about this and that. I wondered how many of them were there to interview and how many were there

to make friends. Probably quite a few, these were lonely times, after all. Never good in social situations, I loudly proclaimed “I have a lonely heart but a welcoming spirit!” The room grew quiet. One of the women stood. Before she could speak a door opened “#57? You’re up!”

I glanced at my ticket - it read 93. I had a while to wait, and my attempt at conversation had turned the room silent. So I pulled out my travel bagpipes and started to practice.

I noticed some people tapping their feet to my music, then some got up and started dancing. Who knew the universal language was bagpipes. No longer paying attention i suddenly heard "93, calling #93". ... I stopped

my music. “It’s my turn,” I said. The crowd gave a collective sigh of disappointment, then several applauded, and one dropped a dollar into the purse at my feet. “Number 93!” the voice sounded again. “You’re up!” I scurried to the conference room, shoving the travel bagpipe into

a bin on the way. "Stupid instrument" I thought to myself. The moment I entered the room a hot spotlight lit me up, I was blinded yet could sense hundreds of people in the darkness beyond, the dull rustles of clothing and footwear, and the mental waves of disdainful anticipation.

I pushed through the crowd, annoyed mummers and screeches taking forefront of my mind. I was so distracted by my hearing I forgot of my blindness, getting lost in the terrors of my psyche.

A child crying. The whine of a small motor came toward me. I turn. A group of men laughed (at me?), then annoyed as I brush into one. I was in the center of a sea of noise in the black. Then the ground I expect beneath my foot was gone. I was going forward off the curb.

I landed face first, breaking my glasses. The bagpipes flew through the air and wound up under the tire of a school bus that slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting me. The bag deflated under the weight of the bus and let out a slow drone as if to mock me. Stupid bagpipes.

"Watch it ya Celtic freak!" The driver screamed. I nodded my head toward him to say, "You're telling me!". I just sat on on the road for a minute blind, bloodied & swelling thinking on the disaster my life had taken in such a short time. "Waa Waah".