I just don’t get the audacity of some people. If you don’t have the prettiest face, you should have the personality to make up for it. Some of the most unattractive people are the rudest and most uncouth; and, unfortunately, I work with the absolute worst kind. This girl that sits in the cubicle across from me is the Antichrist herself, only in a Victoria Secret suit and stilettos.
As I entered the gates of backstabbing, sum sucking Corporate America, I could smell the bullshit in the stale, office air. It was my birthday so I was even more pissed than usual to be within the four walls, not to mention downright irritated to be sitting across from this crazy bitch.
“Lookie, lookie. It is somebody’s birthday today. I got you a little something. I think you will like it.”
How the hell did she know it was my birthday? Is she Cleo’s sister? Does this bitch have a physic connection with Dionne Warwick? First of all, if Dionne was really physic, she should have let Whitney, her own blood relative, in on a little secret about Bobby Brown and his love for crack.
“Wow, thanks,” I said as I began the unveiling. “A bottle of my favorite wine, Fat Bastard. How did you know?”
“Just a little something for your warm welcome. You have been so nice to me. I really appreciate it.”
Was she fucking kidding? I should have been an actress. At the time, I didn’t realize that the booze was merely a ploy to get on my good side, attempting to blind me of her evil ways.
After the holidays, a large department store that shall remain nameless in an effort to keep me from getting sued opened in the mall across from the office. You can only imagine what kind of excitement that created. Buckhead Betties abandoned their weekly Botox appointments to get a glimpse of the window displays. All of my coworkers, myself included, wanted to return from their lunch hour with a brown bag in hand illustrating that they had been to the grand opening sale.
We were all in the kitchen after lunch showing off our great purchases to anyone who‘d look. Receptionist was the first to pull something from her brown bag.
“Check my key chain out. Isn’t it so cute with its green glitter? It matches my purse perfectly.”
First of all, who the fuck goes to one of the most prestigious department stores and buys a key chain? Next, who uses key chains, one with glitter on them no less? The entire situation infuriated me, so I marched back to my corner of hell.
I get back to my cubicle to find that the Antichrist has a large brown bag on her desk.
“Come over here and look what I got,” she teases me with a demonist grin. “Won’t these be great for summer?”
She extracted a pair of flip-flops trimmed in cubic zirconium diamonds.
“Those will look great with a jean skirt,” I said, assuming that her closet had one of those hideous tributes to the eighties. “How was your first trip to the largest department store in the states?” I attempted to make conversation with the poor soul since she just paid eight dollars for a pair of bling bling beachwear.
She replies, “Well, sweet girl, let’s just put it this way. The black people have found it.”
I was flabbergasted, stunned, and speechless. My jaw dropped to the fucking floor, without Antichrist even noticing. This racist bitch must think that black people are only allowed in department stores to clean up after all the white people when they are done making their final purchases. God forbid black people be allowed to shop amongst the white people. The Antichrist was probably having her nose done when Civil Rights and segregation were implemented.
Despite Antichrist’s obvious faults, she did teach me a few things about this shitty thing called life.
Number one, never buy diamond flip flops or jean skirts, whatever the occasion. Number two, if you are ugly, don’t be a bitch too. Number three, Bobby Brown loves crack.
©2007 Jessica Smith
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