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Life as a Sissy Maid #1

By Melissa Miranti

Finding a job right out of college was tough enough, but for someone with few qualifications like Anthony Kenson, it could be pure murder on the nerves. As it turned out, his parents’ greatest dream in life was to undo their home full of laughter and fun, and to become empty-nesters. That reduced the time that Anthony had to get a job to the tiniest of margins, so that his parents could get on with their glory years, and he would supposedly be able to start in on his salad days.

One day his father plopped a newspaper into his lap. “Look here.”

“What is it?” Anthony asked, looking down. His computer screen already had several different job listings arrayed across it. Maybe one of them would be willing to take on someone with no relevant experience or knowledge whatsoever. Maybe Anthony could make a living at a circus performer showcasing the pigs flying out of his ass.

“The classified section. We used to use these back in the day to look for work,” Anthony’s father said, pointing at the paper.

“Gee, thanks Dad,” Anthony said. He felt a mix of emotions, gratitude for the help and annoyance that his father was the same person who caused him to need help.

“You’re welcome. I circled a few that have your unique résumé requirements,” his father said. As he walked away, he muttered under his breath, “Who thinks they can get anywhere on a History major outside of academia?”

Anthony ignored his father’s words. It was the only way he could get by these days. Maybe in the future they wouldn’t be so hard on him, when they had gotten what they wanted, but it was hard to deal with it in the here and now. He looked at the newspaper, opening it up to inspect the classified ads that his father thought would be good for him. At least when he searched for jobs for his son, Anthony’s father tended to find realistic postings. Last week the elder Kenson had found a listing for a job in a book store, but the position had been filled before Anthony could get there.

Today his suggestions were all interesting, but one in particular stood out from all the rest.

Live-in house servant position for lone executive. Must be willing to perform myriad household duties. Pay competitive. Experience in household chores preferred, but on the job training will be given.

There was more contact information, but it seemed to be a throwaway email address, meant to conceal the identity of whoever had put the ad in the paper. The serving life didn’t appeal to Anthony too much, but since it was a live-in position it would negate the need to find an apartment and pay rent. Plus anything that could get him out of his parents’ house sooner was a good thing. He sent off a résumé within the hour, and thought no more of it until the following day.

Anthony woke up to find an email in his inbox. It called him to attend a meeting via webcam, so that a preliminary interview could be conducted. Apparently his résumé had been taken into consideration. He was directed to a site to input a time for his meeting, and so he input a 10:15 AM slot for the next day, more than a little concerned that the slots were only separated by increments of fifteen minutes. Did that mean he had to make an impression on this person in that short a time? Regardless, it was the closest Anthony had come to getting a job thus far. He had to make every shot count.

Upon the following day, Anthony got his best suit and only tie on well ahead of time. Nerves will make a person do funny things, including walk around his home for three hours fully dressed for a meeting. He kept thinking that he couldn’t screw this up, that failure was absolutely not an option. When the time grew close, Anthony got an email asking him to download a program that would allow him to connect properly. He got it and opened it up, the tiny light on his laptop glowing blue to show that his webcam was working properly.

“Anthony Kenson?” A female voice said from the other end. He couldn’t see her face, instead having to settle for the black void that disconnected webcams saw.

“Um, yes, that’s me,” Anthony said. Maybe this was the guy’s secretary or something? He didn’t have many details about this person that he was going to be working for, whoever he was.

“Good. I assume everything in your résumé is true?” The voice asked. She seemed hesitant, almost distracted by something going on on the other end.

“Yes, yes, it is,” Anthony said.

Her voice grew commanding. “You will begin immediately. Report to 101 Central Park West tomorrow at 8 AM and give your name at the door. It is not necessary to bring anything in particular. Wear what you are wearing now. A uniform will be provided for you, and will be tailored to fit you once you have proven you can stay on.”

Anthony was shocked, and he was sure it showed on his face. Before he knew it, the woman on the other end had disconnected, and he was left alone with his elation. Once Anthony was sure he was off camera, he danced around with his arms in the air, happy as could be. It had been the strangest interview Anthony had ever heard of, but that didn’t matter much. What mattered to him and his parents once they got home from work that day was that he was getting out of the house and on his own.


Anthony arrived at the 72nd Street train station, made up in the same suit he had worn the previous day, nervous as could be. He rushed off the C train, desperate to make up as much time as possible. Years of college had left Anthony with a strained sense of time, and a sleep schedule that ran awkwardly on the best of days. In his favor, however, the train had been oddly fast for a Tuesday morning, though he still didn’t get a seat. Some things never change.

At two minutes past eight, Anthony arrived breathless before the door to a great big apartment building. He gave his name to the doorman, who let him in, directing him to the fifth floor. The inside of the building were sumptuously decorated, and it was obvious that the kind of person who would live here was the kind of person who could afford a personal butler.

The elevator stopped, and Anthony stepped out to find himself in a tiny anteroom with a single door. The door stood ajar, as if waiting for Anthony to enter. He swallowed his nervousness, steeled himself, and entered.

“You’re late.” The same woman greeted Anthony as he entered – he could tell by her voice. By the count of the modern-looking analog clock behind her, he had arrived six minutes past eight.

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