The Dancing Carrot


She wondered, openly and internally, every day about what she could do to make herself saleable, unique and special to the right someone in Human Resources.  She wondered, imagined really in her thoughts when she sat in the rocker drinking her morning poor man’s mocha, what it would be like to get the call.  As it stood, every time the cell phone blinked its blue telephone icon at her she blanched. Could this be it?  Maybe that market up north or maybe it is that little store near the college.  Oh boy she thought in her heart of hearts. Oh boy, my ship has come in!

She was not an impractical kind of gal.  She was a local girl who had been an honor student in high school and college.  She knew how to pay attention and how to study.  She drove herself hard and focused all her energy on memorizing details for school tests.  Teachers were naturally drawn to her because she sat listening with such rapt attention. She was, after all these years, still a model student, perfectly attired with all her pencils sharpened and new pens ready to feverishly take notes on every single word spoken during a lecture.  She was, after all these years, a very good girl.

And so it was strange to have been one of the first to be laid off from her job.  She had been there a few years and was always immaculately dressed, early to work each day, friendly, reliable and in a way, delicately present.  For her, helping others was not just a heartfelt urge, it was almost genetic.  She could not help being overly nice.  People suspected her sugary effusiveness.  They stiffened with her overly ebullient concern and extreme efforts to aid them in any way possible.  After all, she was good girl. She couldn’t help it.  It was just how she was made and she knew the managers saw how much she cared.

Months had gone by since she had been let go.  Eight months to be exact.  She was shocked at first when the boss had called her into his office to let her know she would be laid off the next day.  Shocked by the thought that all she had done for others had mattered so little.  There were so many others who lied about their work, taking hour and a half lunches, using work vehicles for personal reasons and those young people who seemed to care so little about the customers.

Yet as the months went by and she applied to so many jobs without response, she began to worry.  She began to feel that others did not realize what a good girl she was and it didn’t seem fair.  She just had to find a way to convince them that they were making a mistake and that she, above everyone else, was a good girl. She deserved to be recognized. She deserved to be worshiped even.  There was no one else like her or so she had come to believe.

She sat in the rocker later one Friday afternoon watching the tree branches in the front of the house sway delicately in the glint of sunshine as it began to set.  She felt uncharacteristically blue and had received several rejection emails that very day.  She just could not fathom the way business worked these days. Email was so very impersonal.  Life had become so impersonal.  No one seemed to care what a good girl she was at all.  As she rocked gently back and forth wondering what would become of her life she began to fall fast asleep sitting up.  Her head nodded and she puffed softly as she let go and slept.

In her dream she was walking into the brightly lit store she had so often shopped for groceries with its handsome floors and perfectly matched designer colors.  She loved how the store opened up beyond the cashiers into rows of methodically and perfectly stacked dry goods.  Every row was precise and perfect.  Not a can out of place.  The faux wood floors gleamed with spotlessness only she was able to appreciate.  She could eat off of those floors and she might.

 As she walked into the store and toward the bakery, her tap shoes clicked in the same precise, crisp manner in which the store was kept.  Her orange tights showed a perfect match to the bottom of her costume.  She could not really bend to see her shoes but as she walked forward, the clicking of the tap shoes reassured her of the task that lay ahead of her.  She could feel the greens at the top of her head wiggling on the wires that made them stand up as she walked.  The costume was a bit itchy against her cheeks as her face fit through the round hole at the top of the carrot.  Her arms moved freely as she made a beeline for the back of the house stairs.  At this time of the morning, the store had just opened and most of the employees were busy finishing up the last details.  She was lucky.  Otherwise, someone might have stopped her.

She made it to the stairs and began to slowly walk forward.  She could not bend to see each stair so used her black patent leather tap shoes to find each rise.  The carrot costume was stiff due to the wire cage underneath that made it into a perfect carrot shape beneath the cloth.    Turning right she walked slowly forward into his office.  She could see him hunched over the desk across from the table where she had been interviewed.  It was early.  She saw his trademark coffee cup in front of him.  The oval through which her face fit in the top of the costume did not make her very recognizable.  She knew he would not remember her.  He had been in such a hurry to dismiss her during her interview that she hoped the dance would hold his attention for some time. 

She moved forward into the office and stopped as he slowly lifted his head to look at her.  He looked at her with such alarm in his eyes; she struggled to stay in character. She began the tap dance number as she stiffly moved in front of the desk, her early morning singing a bit croaking at first.  He continued to appear afraid as she moved into the stronger part of the number, her singing louder and more self-assured, and his mouth falling open as she interjected stomping movements that had become part of her signature tap trademarks.  She ended with a big finish, feeling the sweat dripping down her front and the sides of her head underneath the heavy carrot costume that she had created for this very special moment.

He sat back in his chair, his mouth still open as she came to a stop, breathing heavily due to the exertion of her fine performance.  She was smiling and felt elated.  She had done it.  She had really done it.  The Dancing Carrot she had become, in order to make herself saleable, unique and special.  The Dancing Carrot lives is what she thought as she watched him reach for the phone and call for security.