Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 3.

by Melissa 

Part 3. My arrival at the school 

As the rain poured down relentlessly, drenching me to the bone, I stood before the imposing gates of Elmwood Academy, my heart pounding in my chest. The journey had been a series of unfortunate events, from the theft of my first-class ticket to the loss of my luggage and the missed car. Now, I found myself shivering and soaked in front of the intercom, on a Sunday evening, hoping that someone would hear my plea for help. I pressed the button, my finger trembling slightly. "Hello?" I called out, my voice laced with desperation. "Is anyone there?" The silence that followed was deafening, a harsh contrast to the relentless drumming of the rain on the pavement. 

A surge of panic threatened to overwhelm me as I pressed the button again, my voice trembling as I uttered my name and asked for assistance. Still, no answer came. I was soaked to the bone, my clothes clinging to my shivering form as the wind whipped through my hair. The rain seemed to mock my predicament, a relentless reminder of my isolation and vulnerability. Just when I was about to give up hope, a woman's voice crackled through the intercom, startling me out of my despair. "Hello?" the woman asked, slightly muffled "This is the receptionist." 

"Thank goodness," I exclaimed, relief washing over me. "I'm Melissa Jones, the new student. I was supposed to be picked up by a car from the school, but I missed it. Could you please let me inside?" 

"Melissa Jones you say," the receptionist replied. "Just wait for a minute, I will check the database." 

As the rain continued to lash down, the intercom soon crackled back to life. The receptionist, having checked my name against the school's records, confirmed that a student named Melissa Jones had indeed been enrolled on that day. With a reassuring tone, she instructed me to place my finger on the fingerprint scanner, ensuring that I would be granted entry to the school's premises. With anticipation, I followed the voice's instructions, pressing my finger against the scanner's cool surface. A beep echoed through the intercom, indicating that my fingerprint had been read. The anticipation of finally gaining access to the school's warmth and shelter fueled my resolve. However, as the seconds ticked by, the anticipated opening of the gates failed to materialize. Instead a message flashed on the screen of the fingerprint scanner: "Access denied. Fingerprint not recognized." 

A wave of disappointment washed over me as I realized that the fingerprint scanner was not recognizing my identity. I pleaded with the receptionist over the intercom, expressing my desperate need to seek shelter from the relentless rain. 

"I'm so sorry, Miss Jones," the receptionist apologized, her voice laced with concern. "There seems to be a duplicate entry in our system. Another student with the same name is already registered in the biometrics system. There is nothing I can do. Please leave and come back tomorrow during office hours." 

My mind reeled in disbelief. The receptionist's words echoed in my ears, each syllable a harsh reminder of my predicament. As the rain intensified, my despair deepened. The last bus had left for the day, and the thought of spending the night exposed to the elements sent shivers down my spine. I couldn't possibly go home, and my parents took part in a long-term Mars simulation mission and were therefore unreachable. 

Desperate for shelter, I begged the receptionist, my voice trembling with emotion. "Please," I implored, "I don't have anywhere else to go." 

"I'm very sorry, Miss Jones," the receptionist said. "But there is really nothing I can do. Without proper registration in the biometrics system, you can't be given entry to the school grounds." 

"Please," I insisted, "I can't stay here in the rain. I'm soaked to the bone. I'll do anything to stay inside tonight." 

Just as I was about to give up and resign herself to spending the night in the unforgiving elements, a glimmer of hope emerged from the receptionist's voice. "I can't give you access to the school premises as long as your are not registered in the system, but there might be an option," she said, her tone laced with hesitation. "I see there's another Melissa Jones in the system, a delinquent girl sentenced to community service as a school maid, who was also due today. If you show me an ID with the name Melissa Jones, I could register you as this other girl. But, until things are sorted out, you'll have to abide by all the rules that apply to her. In particular, you'll have to leave all your personal belongings at reception and put on the uniform of a school maid." 

With a mixture of disbelief and resignation, I listened to the receptionist's unorthodox proposal. The idea of temporarily assuming the identity of a delinquent school maid, even for the sake of seeking shelter and verifying my true identity, seemed far-fetched and rather unsettling. The thought of surrendering my personal belongings and donning a school maid's uniform was an unwelcome prospect. I had expected to be recognized as as privileged student, not as a humble custodian of the school's premises. However, the receptionist assured me that this was the only viable option under the circumstances. The biometrics system required a valid ID to register a new entrant, and my fingerprints did not match the profile of the student currently registered as Melissa Jones. 

From where I stayed, stranded and shivering in the pouring rain, the receptionist's suggestion, though unconventional, was like a lifebuoy in my otherwise bleak situation. The prospect of temporarily embodying the identity of a delinquent school maid was far from appealing, but it offered a much-needed refuge from the elements and access to the school's facilities until my identity could be verified. With a sigh, I reluctantly agreed. The exchange of my identity for temporary shelter and access to the school's resources seemed a fair trade, considering the circumstances. 

"Stay where you are, Miss Jones," the receptionist said. "I'll come and give you access to the reception area, so you can be registered and gain access to the maid's quarters. It will take a few minutes." 

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves, and retreated to a sheltered spot behind a pillar to shield myself from the relentless rain. The cold wind whipped through my damp clothes, but I was grateful for the momentary respite from the storm. As I stood there, waiting for the receptionist to arrive, I reflected on the events that had led me to this unexpected situation. The theft of my first-class ticket, the loss of my luggage, the missed car and the relentless rain had all conspired to turn my anticipated arrival at Elmwood Academy into a series of unfortunate mishaps. As the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, I realized that the girl I had bumped into at the train station was probably my namesake, the delinquent school maid who was sentenced to community service for her wrongdoings. She had taken advantage of the mix-up with the tickets, stealing my first-class pass and assuming my identity in order to attend the Academy. This revelation filled me with a mixture of anger and bewilderment. My carefully crafted plans for a new beginning had been shattered, replaced by a bizarre turn of events. The thought of being forced to impersonate my delinquent namesake was not only humiliating but also potentially dangerous. Despite the apprehension that surged through me, I knew that I had no other choice. The prospect of spending the night shivering in the rain, vulnerable and exposed, was far too daunting to consider. The warmth and shelter of the school, even if it meant assuming a false identity, was a much more appealing option. 

The receptionist finally arrived 20 minutes later and took me to the reception. As instructed, I presented my ID to her. She confirmed its authenticity and informed me that I would be temporarily registered as the school maid "Melissa Jones". In exchange for temporary accommodation, I would have to adhere to the school maid's strict set of rules, including surrendering all my personal belongings and donning the school maid's uniform. 

With a sense of resignation, I submitted to the biometrics scan, my fingerprints digitally imprinted onto the school's secure system. As the receptionist guided me through the process, her tone remained professional but laced with a hint of pity. The process felt surreal, a strange culmination of my unexpected circumstances. The scanner beeped, validating the match between my fingerprint and the digital record of the delinquent Melissa Jones. A sense of unease washed over me as I realized that I was now registered as the school maid, my own identity temporarily obscured. As I stepped away from the scanner, I felt a twinge of apprehension. My fingerprints, instead of being a symbol of my identity as a privileged student, were now associated with a completely different persona. This shift in digital representation felt like a subtle yet profound transformation, a reminder of the fluidity of identity in the digital age. 

With a heavy heart, I signed the necessary documents, acknowledging the temporary change in my identity. I felt a strange duality – a privileged student by birth, now stepping into the shoes of a delinquent school maid. 

"All right," the receptionist said, her tone softening slightly. "You are now registered in the system as the school maid Melissa Jones. Just wait here for me, and I'll bring you a school maid's uniform. You will need to wear it to be given access to the maid's quarters." 

"Thank you," I said to the receptionist. "I appreciate your help." 

As the receptionist turned to leave, she added, "You'll have to surrender all your personal belongings to me, of course. And please change into the maid's uniform as soon as you receive it." 

With a sigh of resignation, I nodded, feeling a bit uncomfortable at the idea of handing over my belongings and changing into a uniform that didn't belong to me. But I knew that it was necessary in order to gain access to the school's facilities. And I couldn't stay dressed in my current wet clothes anyway. 

The receptionist smiled faintly and nodded. "Just make yourself comfortable here while I go get your uniform," she said. 

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving me alone in the reception area. I took a seat and glanced around the place. I sighed and leaned back in my chair, feeling overwhelmed by the events of the day. I had come to Elmwood Academy with such high hopes, and now I was stuck in this ridiculous situation. Just then, I heard the sound of footsteps approaching. I looked up to see the receptionist returning, carrying a bundle of clothing in her arms. She handed the bundle to me with a sympathetic smile. 

"Here you go, Miss Jones," she said. "This is the school maid's uniform. You'll need to change into it immediately. I know it's not ideal, but it's the only way for you to stay on the school premises tonight. And don't forget the underwear. It's part of the uniform." 

I took the bundle from her and unwrapped it. Inside, I found a plain dress, a white apron, a maid's cap, a pair of cheap shoes and a set of worn-out undergarments. The dress was made of a coarse, scratchy fabric, and it smelled faintly of dampness and detergent. The underwear was even worse – ill-fitting, unflattering, and made of a rough, itchy material. This was a far cry from the classy schoolgirl uniform I had read about in the school's glossy brochure. 

I wrinkled my nose in distaste. "I'm not sure I want to wear this," I said to the receptionist. "It looks pretty uncomfortable." 

The receptionist shrugged. "It's not the most glamorous outfit," she admitted. "But all maids are required to wear it. It's important that they have a uniform that is practical and easy to clean. If you don't wear it, you won't be allowed to stay on the school premises. And, in your case, the underwear provided is mandatory by Court's order, as punishment for shoplifting expensive lingerie." 

"What?", I said, shocked. 

"I am sorry, Miss Jones", the receptionist said with an embarrassed look. "But you can't be given access to the maid's quarters without abiding to the rules applying to your namesake, the delinquent girl." 

I sighed and nodded. "I suppose that's the outfit such a girl deserves," I said. "I just wish I didn't have to wear it myself." 

"Well, there's not much else we can do," the receptionist said. "You'll just have to make the best of it." 

I nodded again, feeling defeated, and headed towards the restroom, hoping to find some privacy to change into the uniform. As I pressed my finger against the fingerprint scanner, a message flashed on the screen: "Access denied. Fingerprint recognized but individual not granted access to this facility. School maid profile not yet validated." A wave of disappointment washed over me. I had been hoping to change into the uniform in a private setting, but it seemed that my fingerprints, now linked to the delinquent school maid, were not yet authorized to access the restroom. 

With a sigh of resignation, I turned away from the restroom door and headed towards a secluded corner of the reception area, behind a large potted plant. I knew it wasn't ideal, but I had no other choice. I quickly shed my wet clothing, grateful for the warmth of the school's interior. As I slipped into the ill-fitting garments, I felt a sense of humiliation. The uniform was so cheap and ill-made that it made me look even more dishevelled than I already did. The underwear was especially uncomfortable, digging into my skin and making me feel even more self-conscious. 

I looked at my reflection in a window and sighed. I hardly recognized myself. I looked like a different person, someone who was less fortunate and less important. I was supposed to be a privileged student, but now I was being forced to wear the uniform of a lowly school maid. It was as if I had been being swallowed up by the persona of the delinquent school maid, my true identity being erased. I took a deep breath and went back to the reception desk. 

The receptionist looked up at me and smiled. "Well, there you go," she said. "All set?" 

I nodded. "I guess so," I said. "Thanks again for your help." 

The receptionist nodded. "No problem," she said. "Now, there is just one thing left. Before I can finish to validate your school maid profile and give you access to the maid's quarters, you must surrender your personal belongings to me." 

I nodded, defeated, and relinquished my belongings to the receptionist, accepting the change of attire as an unavoidable inconvenience. My belongings, including my phone, handbag, jewelry, watch, my clothes, and even my ID document, were confiscated by the receptionist and placed in a secure drawer. "These will be kept under lock and key until your identity is verified," she explained. 

I felt a twinge of sadness as I saw my belongings being locked away. They were a physical link to my former life, a reminder of the privileges I had taken for granted. 

With all my belongings securely locked away and my appearance transformed into that of a lowly maid, the receptionist quickly finished to fill out the necessary paperwork, and I found myself officially registered as my namesake, the delinquent school maid. 

Then the receptionist finally gestured for me to follow her and led me to the maid's quarters. With my new identity as a school maid, I could use my fingerprint to be granted access to a small, sparsely furnished room. I collapsed onto the bed, exhaustion washing over me. Despite the uncomfortable surroundings and the unexpected turn of events, I felt a sense of relief. I had a roof over my head, and that was all that mattered for now. As the storm raged outside, unleashing a torrent of rain that was beating against the windows like a thousand drums, I drifted off to sleep...