Chairs
By Denver E. Torres
Cobonpue’s chair sitting in the cover page of the Architectural Digest was an eye-candy to Mila. She spotted that mag in a transparent cellophane with bold print, NATIONAL BOOKSTORE, in a fifty-something man’s grip that was wearing a Taghuer. Mila followed with her eyes that transparent bag as the man exited the store.
Opposite the store where Mila was working was Our Home, a lifestyle shop; near its entrance was a large square glass panel with a mauve colored sofa sitting pretty behind it. Looking at the soft chair, Mila exclaimed secretly, “I would buy one, one day! I promise,” in a half-sad, half hopeful voice. Her sadness was caused mainly by the fact that the price of the gorgeous chair was her total annual salary. But the hope of owning a lovely chair was still there.
Then Marga’s voice, half-shouting from the counter was like a radio’s volume zero, one, two, three and became audible to Mila. Mila! Mila! Mila’s supervisor called her out with a sense of urgency and mild wariness. Marga wordlessly pointed a stout lady.
Dismissing her daydreams into the air, she was more conscious now of her tired feet and legs. It was the tail end of her shift. She will be off in an hour after seven hours of standing, assisting, and welcoming the walk-in customers. She went to the lady customer that Marga pointed. She wore the sweet-for-customer smile and said, Yes, Ma’am. How may I assist you? The stout lady asked immediately, “Do you have a size five and a half of this?”
