Monday morning: the very beginning of my work experience week and almost certainly the most important day to make a good impression. I wake up with an oddly disconcerting feeling, soon discovering the reason as I glance at my alarm clock and realize that the bloody thing hadn’t gone off, meaning I had already fallen fifteen minutes behind schedule and I’d just gotten out of bed. Elapsing into full-fledged panic, I pull on a random jumper and a borrowed pair of my mother’s black work pants, which are at least two inches too small around the stomach (damn them petite women with tiny waists).

I throw my breakfast and lunch into a bag and prepare to run out the door. Black socks, black socks… all too late, I discover that I do not in fact own any black socks, and as time is rapidly running out before the train leaves the station, I grab a (very possibly) hideously mismatched handful from the sock drawer and shove my tootsies into my school shoes, wincing as I take in the greenish patches on the insoles that have long gone unpolished. Walking briskly along and taking in my appearance in the reflection of the shop windows, I notice something looking strangely out of place with my outfit. On closer inspection of my socks, I realize that of all the sensible pairs in my closet, I had picked the one with red teddy bears clutching handfuls of balloons printed all over them.

(God, now I truly see what they mean when they say that white socks with black pants and shoes are just about the gravest fashion mistake you can make. It was horrible. Truly horrible. I still wake up in the middle of night shuddering at the thought of it.)

In damage control mode now, as I’d reached the station just in time to miss my train, I stare in horror at the appalling state of my footwear, tossing up whether to leave the socks on or to take them off. Teddy bears, or bare ankles? Bears? Ankles? Ankles win out, and I manage to slip my shoes back on as the next train approaches the platform. Stumbling on with one shoelace untied like a demented loony, convinced that everybody in the carriage is staring at my feet, it is my wonderful luck that the train is absolutely packed, standing room only and no elbows allowed.

As reluctant to show my ankles as a conservative Victorian lady, I discreetly pull the waistband of my pants down so that the bottoms completely cover my shoes. While walking I tiptoe gingerly along so the pants flutter up as minimally as possible. This leads to my almost missing the tram, which eradicates all the hard work I’d gone to to keep people from noticing the ankles, as I had had to run halfway across the street while the tram was about to leave the stop and staggered onboard, now positive that everyone is indeed staring at me and my dubious choice of footwear.

As it turns out, I shouldn’t really have bothered as the other chick who was there for work experience rocked up in a hoodie and Converses. Who by the way acted about eleven years old, coming up with such gems as ‘I don’t know, if I get it wrong it’s his fault’. No, you ass, it is your own bloody fault if you get something wrong because you were too stupid to ask for instructions, and you should be grateful that they’re even letting you tag along for a week. Ignorance and stupidity really shits me. Especially when combined.

Needless to say, I spent the rest of the day with my feet behind desks or tucked underneath a chair, always going last up the stairs and edging slowly past people giving me funny looks. (What, you’ve never seen a professional outfit with no socks before? Weirdo…) The moment I got home I polished my shoes and headed straight to the shops to purchase a proper pair of plain black socks.

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