DARTH VADAR'S DAUGHTER

My current position at work requires me to spend hours in the day photocopying documents.

The production office is located in an ancient building with very poor ventilation systems and unfortunately for me, the photocopier is situated in a tiny room without any ventilation at all.

Due to my diligent work ethics, I have since developed mild migraines and a hideous photocopier’s cough.

Concerned with my health, my Department Head has since ordered a Hepa mask for me, to be worn when sequestered in the copier room. The mask is great, after two hours of being in this toxic environment I resurface without a headache or hacking cough.

However, when interrupted by coworkers who need to copy a sheet or two, the atmosphere is awkward and the discourse is strained. My voice, muffled, echoy and breathy. As I attempt to maintain a carefree conversation, all I can focus on is the knowledge that I look and sound like Darth Vadar’s daughter. (Sexy only to a Star Wars Geek.)

People can only maintain eye contact for a few minutes and then they quickly shift their eyes towards the ground, because looking at me is like staring at a kid trapped in a complete braces-n-headgear ensemble. You must look away quickly before the poor kid can see the pity and stifled laughter in your eyes.

Almost everyone at the office has made an effort to come in to copy "something" so they could take a mental picture of the Hepa mask girl.

In my vivid imagination, they all assemble at the water cooler, talking and laughing about the ridiculousness of my get-up.

To my knowledge this has not yet happened, but as a preemptive strike, I have made fun of myself and the mask, allowing my coworkers to openly mock and pity me.

It’s a good thing I don’t take myself seriously and have the ability to make others laugh at my own expense, or else this would be a truly traumatic experience.