Oh, how adorable was the lass sat opposite me on the tube the other morning?
Nervously reading and re-reading a job spec.
Flicking through her handwritten notes.
New suit.
I’d guess, from her age, she was a sixth-former en route to an interview for an internship over the summer holiday. She’d do well, I was certain: she looked bright, keen. She’d done her homework.
But back to that suit. That far too short to be demure suit. That final question, once they had ticked all the other boxes: “And do you really think you skirt is of an appropriate length?”
She’d blush, mutter apologies, say that she had thought it was fine but was sorry. But what would happen next?
Would the interviewer take a cane from the cupboard, and tell her that – whilst the job was hers – he took a dim view of improper conduct and used very traditional methods of office discipline (“with which you are doubtless familiar from school?”).
Or would he take out paper and fountain pen, and read aloud as he wrote – complaining to her headmaster (an old friend) about her unacceptable appearance (and, in so doing, condemning her to an inevitable six of the best)?