When I noticed the ad that the President of a mining company needed an assistant, I was quick to apply. I sent my resume and highlighted in my cover letter that I had worked in the mining industry for many years.
When I got invited for an interview, I was surprised to find the company building in a rather dilapidated state. The mining company I had worked for previously was based in a steel and glass high rise, housing some 700 employees.
Still, not all mining companies are big companies, so I went inside and climbed the squeaking steps to the second floor.
In what had to pass for the reception area, an elderly woman peered at me over her half-moon glasses.
"Good morning, I have a two o'clock appointment with Mr. Hart," I informed her.
She dutifully picked up the phone. "Your two o'clock is here," she spoke with a tired sigh.
A man resembling Humpty Dumpty came to greet me and introduced himself as Fred Hart, President of the company. So this was to be my boss.
For the next two hours he grilled me regarding my education and experience.
I provided him with all the answers and was rewarded with the words "You've got the job. Can you start tomorrow?"
I went home in seventh heaven. I had a job!
This feeling of elation was soon to end. No sooner did I report for work the next day or my new boss informed me of the rules of the company.
Trousers were not allowed. The female staff could only wear dresses or skirts, with a hem above the knee.
Shirts and blouses had to have long sleeves.
Stockings had to be worn at all times, no pantyhose.
Only court shoes were allowed and had to have a minimum of a two inch heel.
Jewellery had to be kept to a minimum.
Full make-up had to be worn every day and was to be regularly touched-up.
Hair had to be worn off the face.
Perfume, scented body lotion or scented hand cream was not allowed.
There was no air-conditioning in the office and windows were not to be opened.
Fred Hart wanted his tea served at precisely 9:00 a.m., 11:00 a.m. and 3:00 p.m. at the exact temperature of 194 degrees, in a white cup on a white saucer, with one flat spoon of sugar and six drops of milk. A temperature gauge and milk dispenser was to be found in the kitchen.
His beverage had to accompanied by two coconut cookies.
According to Fred Hart, the company upheld the highest standards and failing to meet those standards was cause for immediate dismissal. He would overlook my linen trousers and sleeveless top today, but as from tomorrow I was to follow his rules to the letter.
The company had high standards?
I couldn't help glancing around the office. The lighting was a couple of sad looking bulbs hanging from a grimy ceiling. Grey paint peeled off the walls. The desks were old and stained. The chairs were made of wood and rather uncomfortable looking. Electrical cords were taped to a threadbare and stained brown carpet.
I started to wonder if this was the right job for me.
I had to wear long sleeved tops and stockings! This in an office with no air-conditioning and where windows were not to be opened! It was only 9:00 a.m. and with the sun slanting through the bare windows the office was already uncomfortably hot.
I could only wear dresses and skirts! This would present a problem as my wardrobe consisted ninety percent of trousers. And what was with this rule that the hem of a skirt had to be above the knee?
I wondered whether to leave now or just not come back tomorrow. There was no way I could live and work with these rules.
Still, this job was better than no job. If the receptionist and other woman I had seen could live with Hart's rules, then maybe so could I. Perhaps I could bring a fan to work.
Upon closer inspection I noticed that my desk did not have a chastity board and was positioned in direct line of view with Fred Hart's desk.
It suddenly all made sense. I could only wear dresses or skirts! The hem had to be above the knee! Fred Hart was not only a man of many rules, he was a peeping tom.
As I sat down and crossed my legs, Fred Hart snapped his fingers. Legs were not to be crossed. I could only cross my legs at the ankles.
Sorry Fred Hart, job or no job, I was leaving.