Ever since she shrunk, Rose developed a burning hatred for LinkedIn. The social network that once proved to be such a useful resource was now an absolute cesspool where hundreds, thousands of tiny people like her desperately tried to attract attention through any of their knowledge or soft skills — only to be relentlessly brushed off, often without any preambule. For some reason, people — normal people — found it perfectly acceptable to mock and belittle tinies; something they would not do to any other minority or disabled group! Recruiters would routinely say things like we don’t really need another desk piece or sorry, the position of an office pet is taken with a winking emoji. Rose’s blood boiled. And that was not even the worst. The worst was when some of them would let her go through the the first round only to collect her contact details — and share them with people who’d be interested in her, although not her experience or skills. Random text messages would light up Rose’s phone; emails in her inbox from addresses she didn’t know. Hey, we’re having a party and we need a girl as cake decor, $50 and you can have whatever sticks to you :) was the best one she’d received; others were either crude, promising her a nice cozy home under a pair of balls, or dehumanizing and overly technical, like a request to try out for the amazing opportunity of being a living ornament attached to an anklet. And — cherry on top! — so many people, that is, normal people, now included references to tinies in the usual careerist, positivist drivel that LinkedIn culture had so much of. A businesswoman she used to know proudly posted about how she cut the salary of all her tiny employees by the percentage of their height that they lost, and, when they complained, she told them she could have done it by weight instead. That shut them up — you should try it too! Someone was talking about how everyone should get a tiny stylist — no one is going to catch scratches on your shoes as well as a pair of eyes one inch off the ground!
It all made Rose want to vomit, and yet there was no escaping it until she found something. Someone willing to take her on, give her a chance. In fact, she had one such opportunity scheduled for today. It was with a small consultancy firm, which decided to give her a chance, considering her skills. The interview was scheduled at this very coffee shop, and Rose had talked to the owner in advance to help arrange it. This coffee shop had a tiny public workstation located at a wall in the back; it was accessible by a path for tinies, a floor strip next to the wall, coated with fresh yellow paint just days ago. By following the path, tinies could get into and from the coffeeshop directly to a little tiny collection area outside, next to the central MagnaMall elevator, where their caretakers would usually drop them off and pick them up. Rose had reserved her workstation from 9 am to 13 pm, and the interview was scheduled for 10 am. The coffee shop owner moved a table to stand directly over the workstation, and set a sign that said “Reserved” on top of that table. When the interviewer would come, the owner would give her a chair and help Rose get up from the floor.
The owner’s name was Marissa, and she was an incredibly sweet woman. Just a little older than Rose, she got lucky with her franchise operation and pulled good profits. Her impeccable coffee prep skills attracted college students, busy professionals, dorky writers — all sorts of folk. And she didn’t forget about tinies; she planned to install another public use workstation for them, but haven’t quite gotten around to doing it. Those things looked just like little ATM's, but packed some miniaturized tech that cost a fortune. (She voiced it to her boyfriend that she wanted one and he laughed awkwardly. Hell of a way to admit you're not planning to keep dating a tiny).
So, still working on her applications and occasionally scoffing at a yet another portion of LinkedIn bullshit, Rose Bassani kept glancing around. One of her irrational fears was to see her former boss enter the cafe. Sana Jones was a coffee lover, and she definitely frequented some of the boutiques at MagnaMall. There was, of course, zero chance she’d actually notice Rose, but Rose would desperately prefer to avoid that woman. She knew how authoritative Sana could be with tinies — she vividly remembered getting fired, and that experience made her skin crawl, even the memory was too painful — and she knew Sana’s presence would unsettle her. Sometimes she went on her former boss’s LinkedIn page and seethed, looking at the woman’s peaceful expression on the profile photo… she mostly just posted press releases and lectures about Small World.
At about 9:40, the coffee shop started to really fill up. Apparently, MagnaMall had some kind of a promotion going on; Rose couldn’t tell what it was, but it seemed to be related to a combination of end-of-season sales on all sorts of stuff. Tables were getting occupied left and right, and even the passages between them got clogged with people. Rose tried to ignore it all and focus on her work (and yes, she did think of searching for a job as work)… Due to all the booming steps, laughter, spoons clinking against the cups and other noises, it was hard to pick out any particular one — or pay much attention to it. So it would be an understatement to say that Rose was shocked when, with a terrifying, banging noise, someone slammed a giant chair by the table beneath which she worked at the wall. She turned around, her jaw dropping, the words “it’s reserved” frozen in her mouth since no one would hear them regardless. Was she even seen? Who is this, anyways? Whoever it is, they clearly intended to sit at the reserved table...
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August 22
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