What The Hell Was That?

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Mid-day sun glints off the glass buildings in Toronto's financial district. My sunglasses protect me from the glare, but do little to help with the heat and my subsequent damp armpits. I try to casually glance at my shirt to check for sweat stains. Damn. I probably shouldn't have cycled in this afternoon fever.

Too late now. I find a spare post to lock my bicycle. I prefer riding to walking or taking city buses. I often arrive for meetings with my hair sweaty and in the shape of my helmet. I lock my bike and take a swig of warm water from my bottle. Humidity hangs thickly in the air. I am certain that my previously straight hair is floating on my head in frizzy waves, a victim of the late August heat. I want to look presentable for this meeting, but that seems like a far-off wish.

I am using my lunch break to meet a woman I do not know. Although we work in separate buildings, we are employed by the same company. Like many large financial institutions, our company tries to give back by sponsoring community programs in the hopes it will reflect positively on their brand. At this level of power, even charity must result in a financial reward.

The program I am part of is a mentoring program that focuses on employees who self-identify as Métis or Indigenous. I did not sign up as a mentor. I went back and forth on my decision to join this program, and part of me still has doubts. Not about the program - I'm sure it's been well thought out. But, I can't help feeling like an imposter. It seems strange to identify as Métis when I have no connection to the culture. I hope the program will help to sort through my conflicting feelings.

I pick up my worn backpack and walk towards the building she works in. Alex is her name. I've seen a small photo of her in her online profile. Other than that I know nothing about her. I enter through the set of revolving doors. I have worked at this company for a few years now, but I always feel a bout of insecurity upon entering. Being surrounded by people in business suits brings a familiar feeling of inadequacy - as if I've been invited to an event without being told the dress code. My role in the company is behind the scenes so I am not required to dress in a business suit. I prefer casual clothing.

I find a corner in the busy lobby. A steady stream of people enter and exit in the attempt to fulfill their lunch time agendas. I pull out my phone and see I am a few minutes early. I use the time to mindlessly scroll through unimportant emails. Every few minutes the elevators on the other side of the lobby open and a new set of people emerge. The lunch hour sees a lot of foot traffic. I scan the faces looking for the woman from the photo, but none of them are her. I look back down at my phone. She is a few minutes late.

A new crowd of employees alerts me that another elevator has landed on the main floor. As people move purposely in their intended directions, a lone figure appears and is walking straight towards me. This is definitely her. A white skirt is paired nicely with her black and white blazer. High heels add to her already impressive stature and make her stand apart from everyone else.

"Hi, sorry I'm late," she offers while extending her hand towards me.

"It's alright, I haven't been here long," I reply while shaking her hand. She has a firm grip.

"Should we get some coffee then?" she asks while walking towards the exit. I follow along side of her, feeling short and underdressed. I wasn't expecting her to be this tall and beautiful.

As she walks towards the exit, people automatically move out of her way. I wonder if she notices how instinctively people accommodate her. Her heels emit purposeful clicks on the concrete outside. I walk beside her, protected from the sunlight by her shadow. My flat shoes do nothing to announce my presence. I try to fill the silence with small talk.

"Where are we going for coffee?" I inquire.

"There's a hotel right here. People sometimes find it odd when I suggest this place, but it has good coffee and it's quiet enough for conversation," she offers as she approaches the hotel cul-de-sac.

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