"Next!"
I've had it with this place. I have to act nice, prim, and proper all the time and it is absolutely killing me. I'm a lady, but not THAT kind of lady. That kind of lady always makes me want to vomit.
"Hiiiii! What can I do for you this fine, fine day! You sure are looking sharp in that suit today. Are you on your lunch break? Well, we'll make this as quick as possible, don't you worry, sweetie!"
I lay the southern drawl on a little thick for the cute ones. They love it.
"Did you see that awful wreck this mornin'? The rain makes the road just as slick as ice! People need to be more careful these days. Back home in Tennessee, they -"
Darrell, the mechanic yells in the back. "Shut your mouth! We're ready for him."
"Well, I guess they're ready for you now! I'll take those keys from you an', darlin', we just might be able to have this back to you by Monday."
With a wink and a smile, I take the keys, along with any amount of common sense he ever had. I love to put these pompus idiots on with my sly, southern belle demeanor. It's like a deer caught in headlights: they never know what hit them.
"Hey, Sweetie! Why don't you waltz your little ass over here and get me a cup of coffee."
Ted, my boss, has such a way with words. He can really make me feel like a piece of meat sometimes. Smacking me here, grabbing me there. I am so sick of this job! I need to be respected, revered, and I need to sell a screenplay, FAST!! I want out of this low level, low paying, and most importantly, low respect job.
I wish someone would write a song about me. What I wouldn't give to be Caroline in Neil's song "Sweet Caroline!" I didn't put that song on our answering machine for nothing. There was meaning behind that. I wish some man, preferably an outrageously famous musician, would look at me and just see the potential for a song, and not as a quick grab or as an opportunity for a swift smack on the butt. Our eyes will meet, and he'll immediately begin to hear music in his head. A familiar title will surface: "Mary Lou, You Rock My World" (a very fitting title, I might add). People will always wonder "Who IS Mary Lou?" and I will have the secret pleasure of knowing that I am that Mary Lou and I will forever be an envied, anonymous cult icon.
Enough of this crazy daydreaming.
I swirl around in my seat, arise, and face him, with my hands placed firmly on my hips. "Ted, why don't you just KISS MY LITTLE ASS!!"
"WHAT did you just say? I think if I were you, I'd watch my mouth when I'm speaking to the man who signs my paychecks!"
What a comeback! He really put me in MY place! Stupid bastard. I'll show him.
"Oh, I didn't know neanderthal's had evolved to written communication! Too bad you haven't evolved into coherant forms of speech because I don't believe I heard you right. You aren't a man; you're a stinking, steaming, fly-infested pile of dog shit!"
Ted doesn't take the truth very well. I don't believe I've ever seen anyone turn that red with anger in a long time. The truth hurts, I admit that. But if he were a man, he certainly would have acted like such a baby.
"What in the HELL is your problem? How DARE you speak to me like that you stupid bitch -"
Whack!
Nobody calls me a bitch. If they do, they meet the floor. I guess I'm lucky that the sigh of blood doesn't make me squimish.
"Ted, you can take your job and shove it up YOUR little ass! I quit!!"
Lucy is NOT going to believe this!