It was like a shampoo commercial, the way Marla walked down the street. Everything seemed slow motion, and her hair really seemed to bounce as she shook her head. She smiled a knowing smile to herself and pranced down the stairs. Marla hadn’t been this happy for months. The interview had gone so well that she had been offered the job on the spot, the woman who made her coffee had seemed genuine when she’d asked Marla where she got that dress because it made her look amazing and she was pretty sure she’d counted four different men checking her out on the train. Things were going her way.
Confidently, she stepped onto the footpath and immediately collided with a group of teenage boys carrying skateboards with greasy hair, piercings and too much Lynx.
‘Oh! Sorry!’ she tittered.
‘Watch where you’re going, you stupid, ugly bitch,’ one responded and his mates laughed. Marla’s face dropped, shocked at the harsh words.
‘Yeah, filthy whore,’ another muttered and they continued to amble down the street taking over the whole footpath.
Marla stood frozen to the spot. How could some stupid punk teenagers treat her like this? How could they just take away all the confidence that she was feeling? She left like bursting into tears, but instead turned and slunk her way up the street. Her head hung low and her face was in a frown. Inside, she was furious but upset, and even the memory of getting her dream job wasn’t going to get rid of the rock in her stomach.
