Gender Swap, a Short Story

This article was written in conjunction with the FSU Strike Magazine Issue VII: House. Click here to view the new issue.

The alarm jarred me awake. No time for a snooze. The early morning sun slanted across the worn floorboards of my apartment. Down below, the city was already teeming with people and horns honking. I stared at the ceiling for too long. My orange tabby cat nudged my hand. Back to reality. 

Shivering, I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around myself. I swiped a streak of steam from the mirror over the sink.  Scowled at my reflection. Should have gotten a haircut. Will they notice?  The clothes I chose the night before hung in the closet. Who doesn’t like navy? I’ve never met anyone who had a problem with navy. The blazer mocked me with its tired striped pattern. Too late to shop now. I threw it on and walked out the door.  

The city streets are something you either love or hate. After a few years here, I still haven’t decided. Women walked in confident strides down the sidewalk, their hair bouncing with every step.  They brushed past others without saying a word.  Most had phones pressed to their ears, oblivious to the din around them, talking either business or booze. I paused at an intersection to check the route on my phone. Smells wafted from food carts lining a side street. The big red hand blinked a couple of times before the little white silhouette beckoned us forward into the crosswalk.  A few blocks down, I stopped in front of a tall glass building that looked just like the others lining 5th Avenue.  Is this the right place? A woman in a mint suit turned the corner and walked straight into me.

“Sorry,” I stammered. Even though she’d bumped into me. She rolled her eyes, annoyed that I had interrupted her pursuit to work. On a normal day, this interaction would stick with me. The embarrassment and the strange color of her suit would float around my subconscious for hours. But not today.

Finally, the building’s entrance loomed in front of me. Its revolving doors dumped out a CEO with bleached hair and big sunglasses. Her assistants trailed a few beats behind her sporting ties that matched her fuchsia suit. Took a deep breath. I made eye contact with another person walking out. Saw eyes slide down my body and back up.

“Maybe a smile and you’d be my type.” They winked.   

Would they only hire their type?

The lobby of the building was filled with brightly colored suits. Maybe the navy was too safe. Glass elevators zoomed up and down. My chariot awaited me.

Bing. The mirrored doors of the elevator slid open. A receptionist was seated behind a large oak desk. I breathed a sigh of relief. I approached the man, who was tapping away feverishly on his laptop. Waited a few seconds.

“Excuse me?” I said. The man held up a finger. I held my breath. When he looked up from the screen, he smiled. An ally?

“You must be the singing gram! It’s Jordan’s birthday and we heard those are a favorite. Let me just call a few people.” He reached for his phone. I felt my cheeks burn.

“No, uh, sorry. I’m actually here for an interview.” I pulled at the collar of my button-down. He laughed. Was I even in the right office? 

“Oh of course, you look like a real go-getter. Sorry, what was your name?”

“Charlie.”

“Ok Charlie, down that hall and to the left.” He returned to his screen.

“Great, thanks!” I said. I tried to appear confident now that I had been mistaken for Jordan’s birthday surprise.

I followed the man’s directions and wound up waiting in an oversized leather armchair in front of a window overlooking the city. Sunlight bounced off the endless skyscrapers and the water in the harbor sloshed around. I leaned back and tried to regain my composer. The sound of chattering voices from a nearby printer begged for my attention.

“Damn, did you see Peyton last night at happy hour?”

“How could I miss that ass?” They pair snickered. I cringed.

A door flew open as though it knew I was eavesdropping.

“Charlie, we’re ready for you.” A voice from within called. Deep breath. They are only just people, too.

I picked myself up and walked through the door into a room centered by a dark wooden table. Three people sat on one side, turned towards an empty chair. My heartbeat quickened.

“Thanks for coming today.” One of them said.

“No, thanks for having me, I’ve been looking forward to this opportunity all week.” Was that too eager? I gulped. The chair felt more uncomfortable than I remembered.

“After seeing your profile, we knew you’d be a good fit.” The central person smiled.  Their yellow suit glowed.  To the left, I met a pair of eyes peering over a steaming cup of coffee. The eye contact was unsettling. Sweat pooled on the small of my back.

“We require our new hires to have a very special skill set.” The other two looked towards Coffee Cup Eyes. Why have they not introduced themselves?

“From your resume, I see you’ve done a few good things in your life, but so has everyone else.” I stared. What was happening?

“So we,” Coffee Cup Eyes said, motioning to the other two at the table, “are going to have to see something else to show us how bad you want the position.”

“I think my resume can speak for itself? I’ve held two positions previously that are higher than the one I’m applying for, I just wanted to be part of your firm.”

Coffee Cup Eyes put down the mug.

“I don’t think you understand. Your accomplishments to date are fine. We have several other applicants who match yours, so we are going to need reassurance that you are the right person for the job, that’s all.”

The other two said nothing. I fidgeted. How did this escalate so quickly? The person on the right dropped their pen. The sound ricocheted off the windows and into my skull. The three of them looked at me.

“Why don’t you sleep on it and give us a call tomorrow.” The one in the middle said with a nervous edge. I nodded and got up from my seat, opened the door, and shuffled out.

Back on the street, the city swirled around me. Finally took a deep breath. People whizzed past me, yelling.

“Hey man, you okay?” A passerby said out of courtesy. My emotions must be spilling out, my shock showing on my face.

“Yeah, all good here.” I laughed and waved. “Thanks.”

I shoved my hands into my pockets and started back towards my apartment. Women in their colored suits pushed past me. Navy really was a silly choice. The shock from the encounter at the firm wore off as I rounded the corner, the early afternoon sun startled my eyes.

Did I flirt with those women, smile too much at the beginning?  I felt so boyish in the wake of their intimidation.  I thought of that man back at the receptionist's desk, and if he was familiar.  Was I asking for it?  I shake my head.  I use one hand to grip the sides of my jaw in near defeat.  Stubble was already growing back despite my attempt for a clean shave this morning.  It’s a woman’s world. And I’ve got to live in it.

Strike Out,

Writer: Emily Waters

Editors: Emily Russell and Mary Delorenzo

Photographer: Lily Fox

Tallahassee