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Because I want mah damn |
oranges! |
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Posted: Sun Dec 30, 2007 4:09 pm
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There was a time once when I thought there was just heaven and hell. Now, I know better. I’m sitting here in Lou’s office, and you know what I’m doing? Filling out my résumé. It goes a little something like this:
“Have you ever killed a man?”
No. Yes. Once. No.
“Do you own any weapons?”
Do stiletto heels count?
“How many times have you lied in the past week?”
Once. Well, I mean, "once" counting now, I haven't needed to lie for a while.
"How many of the seven deadly sins have you committed in your lifetime?"
“For G—” I stop mid-God. I know better than to say the G-word down here. “For pity’s sake, Lou, this is ridiculous! I mean, look at me…” He gives me a lazy once-over from his chair behind the desk (it’s actually more like a throne—purple leather and tiger stripes with gold backing) and shrugs. “That, my little lady, is the standard résumé down here. If you don’t like it, go find a job somewhere else.” Glaring, I bang my hand on his desk for dramatic effect. "I don't want a job somewhere else. I want this one." Uh-oh. I can tell he's not too pleased with my flippancy--his eyes are flashing fire. That's grade A blue flame, people. Then a beat. He disappears from the chair so quickly that I don’t even have time to process his absence before I can feel his breath on the back of my neck while I shiver. “You know, I really hate it when you do that.” “What?” he asks, feigning innocence. “This?” Like a flash, he’s gone, and by the time I whirl around, he's already behind me.... again. “How do you do that?" I demanded. "I bet that drives your girlfriend crazy.” “Which girlfriend?” I sigh. “Look, this job—I really need this job.” His eyes flash minor annoyance. “No, Sarah, you want this job. You don’t need anything. Especially not from someone like me.” “So true. And yet…” I pull myself up to my full height--it's not much--and give the devil my best death-glare. I can just see it—my posture screams dignity. Lou giggles in his chair. “I just want to see some justice." I tell him. "It’s not much to ask.” “I wouldn’t call it justice.” “What would you call it?” “A done deal.” He proffers his hand—I think I’m supposed to shake it, but I hate the smirk on his face. I know this smirk—I’ve seen it a thousand times. Oh God, what have I gotten myself into?
Ignoring my better judgment, I reign in what’s left of my dignity and shake hands with my new boss.
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Posted: Sun Dec 30, 2007 4:23 pm
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Posted: Sun Dec 30, 2007 6:16 pm
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Posted: Sun Dec 30, 2007 6:30 pm
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Posted: Sun Dec 30, 2007 7:27 pm
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Posted: Mon Dec 31, 2007 6:45 pm
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