Frivolous Dressorder | The Commute

Then I saw her.

After a long moment, the light turned green.

It was confused. Then curious. Then—almost—happy. Frivolous Dressorder The Commute

Bubbles—iridescent, defiant, beautiful—floated through the subway car. A man in a suit sneezed. A teenager laughed. Grimes’s pen stopped moving. He stared at a bubble as it drifted past his nose, and for one frozen second, his face wasn’t angry.

I work at Helix-Gray Consolidated, a company that manufactures the little plastic dividers used in office supply bins. Our quarterly earnings reports are beige. Our CEO, a man named Thorne who looks like a weeping willow in a tie, once fired a janitor for whistling “a melody with identifiable syncopation.” Then I saw her

The mirrored woman sat next to me. “Watch,” she whispered.

Section 4, Subsection C, Paragraph 12: “Garments or accessories worn during the act of commuting, and removed prior to badge swiping, shall not be subject to review.” Then curious

The next morning, a new memo was taped to every locker in the basement-level break room: “Effective immediately, Section 4, Subsection C, Paragraph 12 is rescinded. All commute attire is now subject to real-time compliance monitoring via closed-circuit review.”

The second warning arrived Thursday. “Infraction: Sock color (neon coral) does not match designated ‘Business Somber’ palette (see attached Pantone chip, ‘Dreary Dove’).”

She reached into her jacket and pulled out a small, battery-powered bubble machine. She pressed the button.