Running Late TG

Ethan’s day had started like any other. He had wandered into the massive convention center downtown, lured by the promise of a tech expo he’d heard about online. But somewhere between Hall B and Hall D, he had taken a wrong turn. Instead of booths showcasing cutting-edge gadgets, he found himself surrounded by towering racks of designer clothing, dazzling spotlights, and people bustling about with an air of frantic urgency.

“There you are!” a voice barked. Ethan barely had time to process what was happening before a woman in a sleek black outfit and a headset grabbed his arm. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. You’re late!”

“I think you have the wrong—” Ethan tried to explain, but the woman wasn’t listening.

“Save it,” she snapped. “We don’t have time for excuses. Get him to makeup, stat!”

Before he could protest further, two assistants flanked him and ushered him deeper into the chaos. Ethan’s protests were drowned out by the blaring music and shouted instructions. His attempts to explain that he was not, in fact, who they thought he was fell on deaf ears. He was mistaken for one of the male models scheduled for a last-minute runway appearance.

The next thing Ethan knew, he was seated in front of a massive vanity mirror, surrounded by a team of makeup artists and hairstylists. They worked with practiced efficiency, their hands moving like blurs. Brushes dusted his face with powders, while pencils and wands attacked his eyes and lips. Someone was muttering about “contouring for the lights” as another person started tugging at his hair.

“Wait, wait, this is a mistake!” Ethan protested, his words muffled as someone pressed a makeup sponge against his cheek.

“Honey, the only mistake is how late you are,” one of the stylists said with a dramatic eye roll. “Now hold still or we’ll never get this done in time.”

Ethan’s heart sank. He didn’t belong here. He wasn’t a model. He wasn’t even remotely fashionable. Yet every attempt to make this clear only resulted in more eye rolls and exasperated sighs. They were determined to transform him, whether he liked it or not.

After what felt like an eternity, the makeup team finally stepped back to admire their handiwork. Ethan barely recognized the face staring back at him in the mirror. His cheekbones looked sharper, his jawline more defined. His lips gleamed with a subtle sheen, and his eyes—they had somehow made his eyes look... dramatic? Sultry? He didn’t have the words for it, but it was definitely not him.

“Perfect,” one of the artists declared. “Now get him into wardrobe.”

“Wardrobe?” Ethan echoed, panic rising in his chest. He tried to stand, but two assistants quickly pushed him back into the chair.

“You’re not going anywhere until you’re runway-ready,” one of them said firmly.

Before he could argue, they hauled him to his feet and steered him toward another section of the backstage area. Racks of glittering outfits surrounded him, each one more extravagant than the last. A designer swooped in, eyeing him critically before selecting a piece with a triumphant “Ah-ha!”

Moments later, Ethan found himself being stuffed into a dress. Not just any dress, but a short, form-fitting, glittering pink number that sparkled under the harsh backstage lights. It clung to him in ways that made him want to crawl out of his own skin.

“This can’t be happening,” he muttered under his breath. But his complaints were ignored as they adjusted the hemline, pinned the fabric, and fussed over every detail.

“You’ll be the showstopper,” the designer gushed, clapping their hands in delight. “Absolutely stunning.”

Ethan’s attempts to escape grew more desperate, but every time he tried to make a break for it, someone was there to block his path. An assistant shoved him back toward the makeup chair for final touch-ups. Another person grabbed his wrist and dragged him toward the lineup of models waiting for their turn on the catwalk. He felt like a prisoner being herded to his doom.

“Please, you don’t understand,” he begged the headset woman from earlier. “I’m not supposed to be here. This is a huge mistake.”

“You’re right about one thing,” she said, barely sparing him a glance. “It was a mistake for you to show up so late. Now get in line. You’re on in two minutes.”

Ethan’s stomach churned as he was shoved into place behind a statuesque model who looked like she’d been born on a runway. He, on the other hand, was just a guy who liked video games and sweatpants. How had he ended up here?

The lights dimmed, and the music changed to a pulsating beat. The models began to move, one by one, strutting down the catwalk with confidence and poise. Ethan’s turn was rapidly approaching, and he could feel the sweat beading on his forehead. His mind raced, searching for an escape plan.

But there was no escape. A pair of hands shoved him forward, and suddenly he was out there, under the blinding lights, with hundreds of eyes staring at him. The crowd’s reaction was a mix of gasps and murmurs, and Ethan couldn’t tell if they were impressed or horrified. Probably both.

He stumbled his way down the runway, trying to mimic the graceful strides of the other models but feeling more like a baby giraffe learning to walk. When he finally reached the end and turned to head back, he could’ve sworn he heard someone in the audience snicker.

By the time he made it backstage, Ethan was ready to collapse. The headset woman was waiting for him, a satisfied smile on her face.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” she said. “Now go get changed. You’ve got one more outfit before the finale.”

Ethan’s jaw dropped. “One more? Are you kidding me?”

But no one was listening. As the team descended on him to prepare for the next look, Ethan could only sigh in defeat. He’d stumbled into this nightmare, and now there was no way out. At least, not until the show was over.