Post by suicideXmakeover on Aug 10, 2005 18:00:37 GMT -5
Part 1
I sat at a desk by the door that read "Clara Martin", typing furiously on my computer and organizing the Post-It notes covered with phone messages. This wasn't exactly how I had expected to spend my summer, but whatever. The pay was good.
I was 21, and would soon be a senior in college. I was majoring in media and advertisement. I lived in an apartment with my two friends, Morgan and Jade. We had divided the rent three ways, and the only way for me to be able to pay my third was, well, for me to get a job.
So here I was, at the massive building that was the Clara Martin Clothing Headquarters. It was one of the taller buildings in the area, and most of the employees were pretty well paid. This meant that I could pay my portion of the rent and still have some money left over, which was always good.
When I had first been offered the job of the personal secretary of one of the most prestigious clothing design companies in the country, I hadn't given the job a second thought. It was a no-brainer. I would get a discount on some of her clothing as well, and I loved Clara Martin clothes. I hadn't anticipated Clara being a bitch, which she was, but I didn't complain. I was there to take messages and run errands, not to tell her about her personality problems.
"Dori!" she said, throwing open the door. Clara was very dramatic. She leaned in the doorway as if posing for a photo shoot or something. She wore a red silk kimono and a pair of black high heels. Her lipstick was the exact same color as the kimono, as was her nail polish. She looked impeccable, as always. "I need for you to do me a favor. Take these down to the first floor and drop them off with Harold in the main office." She dropped an enormous pile of papers on my desk. "And hurry back. I have a meeting with some guy scheduled at three."
"Yes, ma'am," I said, nodding at her and grabbing the papers. I tucked them into my arm and sang "Dirty Little Secret" by the All-American Rejects (which was stuck in my head) to myself as I pushed the button for the elevator and waited as it arrived. I climbed in and sang louder, over the boring elevator music, as I made the voyage from the 16th floor all the way down to the first. I stopped singing and began only humming as I got off the elevator, walking over to Harold's desk. "Ms. Martin wanted me to give these to you," I said, handing him the large mass of papers.
He shuffled through them for a minute. "What's this supposed to be?"
"I don't know. She didn't tell me," I murmured, watching as he scanned over them.
"Is this supposed to be the documents on the fall line? Cause if it is, this is shit. We're not going to get anywhere with these. Go tell her that. Tell her that I said she's losing her touch," he snapped, tossing the papers back at me. Yeah right, like I was going to go tell my boss that her work is shit and she's losing her touch.
"Um, sir?"
"What?" he snapped.
"What is it you wanted me to tell her?" I queried, not really caring, since I probably wasn't going to tell her anyway.
"Her work is shit," he said. "You're not going to tell her I said that, are you?"
"No, sir."
"Then do me a favor. Tell her I want to meet with her. I'll tell her myself," he sighed, returning to his desk. I just nodded and went to the elevator. This job was nothing but stress. I inhaled deeply, then pushed the button that read "12". I was going to take a little break before I went back to face Clara. Who cares if she has an appointment? She didn't even know who the guy was, so he couldn't be that important.
I wandered down the halls of the 12th floor, the papers tucked under my arm. I approached the door I knew so well and pulled it open, slipping inside. The closet was dark, but rather spacious for a closet. I sat on the floor, shutting the door behind me. This sucked. I fidgeted with a run in my pantyhose that I couldn't see. This definitely wasn't the college life I had dreamed of. I had wanted to buy a club in Florida where some good local bands would play, since my hometown of Jacksonville was a cultural wasteland. I would've been saving those people. Instead I was here, answering calls from JCPenney saying that they wanted to know if they could have Clara's permission to sell her clothes in their stores (and she always said no).
I leaned my head back against the wall for a second, then stood to leave. I wrapped my hand around the doorknob and attempted to twist it, only to discover that the door was locked. "Shit," I whispered. "Is anybody out there?"
I pounded on the door, feeling almost sick to my stomach. "Anybody?" I called. "I'm trapped in the closet!" There was no response. I was going to be fired for sure.
I sat at a desk by the door that read "Clara Martin", typing furiously on my computer and organizing the Post-It notes covered with phone messages. This wasn't exactly how I had expected to spend my summer, but whatever. The pay was good.
I was 21, and would soon be a senior in college. I was majoring in media and advertisement. I lived in an apartment with my two friends, Morgan and Jade. We had divided the rent three ways, and the only way for me to be able to pay my third was, well, for me to get a job.
So here I was, at the massive building that was the Clara Martin Clothing Headquarters. It was one of the taller buildings in the area, and most of the employees were pretty well paid. This meant that I could pay my portion of the rent and still have some money left over, which was always good.
When I had first been offered the job of the personal secretary of one of the most prestigious clothing design companies in the country, I hadn't given the job a second thought. It was a no-brainer. I would get a discount on some of her clothing as well, and I loved Clara Martin clothes. I hadn't anticipated Clara being a bitch, which she was, but I didn't complain. I was there to take messages and run errands, not to tell her about her personality problems.
"Dori!" she said, throwing open the door. Clara was very dramatic. She leaned in the doorway as if posing for a photo shoot or something. She wore a red silk kimono and a pair of black high heels. Her lipstick was the exact same color as the kimono, as was her nail polish. She looked impeccable, as always. "I need for you to do me a favor. Take these down to the first floor and drop them off with Harold in the main office." She dropped an enormous pile of papers on my desk. "And hurry back. I have a meeting with some guy scheduled at three."
"Yes, ma'am," I said, nodding at her and grabbing the papers. I tucked them into my arm and sang "Dirty Little Secret" by the All-American Rejects (which was stuck in my head) to myself as I pushed the button for the elevator and waited as it arrived. I climbed in and sang louder, over the boring elevator music, as I made the voyage from the 16th floor all the way down to the first. I stopped singing and began only humming as I got off the elevator, walking over to Harold's desk. "Ms. Martin wanted me to give these to you," I said, handing him the large mass of papers.
He shuffled through them for a minute. "What's this supposed to be?"
"I don't know. She didn't tell me," I murmured, watching as he scanned over them.
"Is this supposed to be the documents on the fall line? Cause if it is, this is shit. We're not going to get anywhere with these. Go tell her that. Tell her that I said she's losing her touch," he snapped, tossing the papers back at me. Yeah right, like I was going to go tell my boss that her work is shit and she's losing her touch.
"Um, sir?"
"What?" he snapped.
"What is it you wanted me to tell her?" I queried, not really caring, since I probably wasn't going to tell her anyway.
"Her work is shit," he said. "You're not going to tell her I said that, are you?"
"No, sir."
"Then do me a favor. Tell her I want to meet with her. I'll tell her myself," he sighed, returning to his desk. I just nodded and went to the elevator. This job was nothing but stress. I inhaled deeply, then pushed the button that read "12". I was going to take a little break before I went back to face Clara. Who cares if she has an appointment? She didn't even know who the guy was, so he couldn't be that important.
I wandered down the halls of the 12th floor, the papers tucked under my arm. I approached the door I knew so well and pulled it open, slipping inside. The closet was dark, but rather spacious for a closet. I sat on the floor, shutting the door behind me. This sucked. I fidgeted with a run in my pantyhose that I couldn't see. This definitely wasn't the college life I had dreamed of. I had wanted to buy a club in Florida where some good local bands would play, since my hometown of Jacksonville was a cultural wasteland. I would've been saving those people. Instead I was here, answering calls from JCPenney saying that they wanted to know if they could have Clara's permission to sell her clothes in their stores (and she always said no).
I leaned my head back against the wall for a second, then stood to leave. I wrapped my hand around the doorknob and attempted to twist it, only to discover that the door was locked. "Shit," I whispered. "Is anybody out there?"
I pounded on the door, feeling almost sick to my stomach. "Anybody?" I called. "I'm trapped in the closet!" There was no response. I was going to be fired for sure.