Today was a helluva day. Actually, the fiery pits of Satan’s homestead would be far better than the last sixteen hours of my life. It all began at six this morning. I received a not so pleasant breakfast in bed. Did I mention that it was my feisty feline, Mr. Gordo providing the breakfast? He’d served me a partially chomped, dead mouse on my pillow, mere inches from my nose. Needless to say, I was far from thrilled.
Once my screams and dry heaves ended, I dumped my pillow and the tiny corpse into the garbage. With only one option, and since I was a co-conspirator in covering up Mr. Gordo’s murder, I raced to the trash chute with the evidence in hand. When I left my apartment, I was wearing an old battered tank top, sans bra and a pair of an ex’s boxers— perfect sleepwear, or so I thought. Until I heard the sound of my pervy neighbor, Mr. Harris’ door, opening and his blatant murmurs of approval confirming of how perfect my sleepwear was…not.
Nasty, creepy Mr. Harris and his ex-wife were, for lack of a better term, acquaintances of mine. Nearly every Friday night for a year, without an invitation, she would bang on my door wanting to discuss her troubled, shitty life. With mascara-smudged cheeks, a cigarette dangling from her crimson smeared lips and a fifth in hand, it was hard to turn her away. She would go on and on for hours about her bastard of a husband, and the like.
Eventually, and gratefully, she left his ass. I haven’t seen nor heard from her since. That’s what happens. People’s lives just go in different directions, and how I wished at this moment Mr. Harris’ life direction would take his revolting ass back into his dingy apartment. Instead, he remained in the hallway leering and humming his continued approval.
Finally discarding the evidence, I passed him heading back to the shelter of my apartment. Mimicking a contortionist, I twisted my body in an attempt to keep his eyes from lingering on one area too long. It seemed there would be no respite from my torture. The door was locked. I repeatedly jiggled the doorknob, knowing full well the outcome would be the same. Regardless of my silent begging and pleading, it wouldn’t budge. I swore I could hear Mr. Gordo on the other side of the door laughing his furry little ass off. Bastard. With a deep breath, eyes front, and my arms crossed over my chest. I passed Mr. Harris once more. Trying to avoid the morning runners and the other residents who weren’t locked out, I took the back stairwell to the Super’s first-floor apartment.
Cursing myself for the hundredth time for my stupidity, I stood outside Mr. Abraham’s door, or as he suggested countless times before I should call him, Parker. In the three years I’ve lived here, Parker’s asked me on numerous dates, despite the fact he has a wife and children.
First, it was coffee that I politely declined. Next, it was dinner, another polite no. After these constant turn downs, I swear he learned my schedule just to have an opportunity to talk to me. It never failed. He would just be there, all the time: when I left and returned from work, a date, or the gym. Then there were the unfortunate times when I had to seek him out. Regardless of his disappointment, it was solely for his professional, not personal capabilities. He would then constantly joke about owing him a date, like when he fixed my garbage disposal or replaced the broken lock on my bathroom door.
The latest date worthy action was when he personally supervised the exterminators as they laid the cruelty-free traps for mice that I reported living in the basement. What a big fucking joke. I really wished that I hadn’t thrown out Mr. Gordo’s morning snack. I would have loved to see Parker’s face when I handed him its furry remains.
I stood in front of the door for several moments, tugging on my form-fitting tank and mentally preparing for what lay behind door number one. Gratefully, when I knocked, Parker’s wife answered. Her growing belly shadowed the three kids that clung to her legs. I’ve always felt a pang of regret when I saw them. They never knew what a rat Parker was. In the past, I’ve had a few substance induced dreams where Mr. Gordo would use his mad hunting skills of catching and killing wayward rodents, and take care of Parker the rat. His wife and kids would be better off for it.
With embarrassment staining my cheeks, from my momentary flash of past dreams and the fact that I was standing outside her apartment in my sleepwear, I explained my dilemma. She took pity on me, and within ten minutes I was back in my own apartment, with Mr. Gordo nowhere in sight. Bastard. My little fun-filled excursion burned an hour of my getting-ready-for-work time. I was due to work by eight, and my company was a half an hour away on foot, an hour by taxi, damn morning rush hour.
Stripping as I ran to the shower I hopped under the freezing cold spray, filling my apartment with another scream in less than 24 hours. Finally, the water heated to a tolerable level as I simultaneously shaved, shampooed and conditioned. All was going well, until an ungodly loud sound came from inside the walls. It was a noise that someone who had legs covered with shaving cream and a head full of conditioner dreaded. Then it happened. The once steady stream of water sputtered then abruptly stopped.
The third and fourth screams in less than 24 hours echoed off the tiled walls. In addition to my screams, every curse known by all red-blooded males, the same ones that a true lady doesn’t say, never mind think, came spilling from my mouth. Despite my best impersonation of a truck driver and I resorting to eventually begging and pleading, the water never reappeared. Running naked and sudsy through my apartment, I entered the kitchen hoping I had enough bottled water to rise out of my hair, no such luck. Defeated, I headed back into the bathroom. Eying the creaminess of my hair, I had to do the unthinkable. Thank god that the water in the tank of the toilet doesn’t receive the same action as in the bowl.
Running down the busy streets, I managed to get to work only six minutes late, not bad considering my morning. Before I could even sit down, I received a call from my boss’ secretary informing me that he needed to see me immediately. Running my fingers through my freshly washed toilet hair, I headed to his office.
On the way, one of the interns heading full speed toward the same boss’ office with a cup of steaming java in hand collided with me and christened my hundred-dollar crème silk blouse. That was my fifth scream in less than 24 hours, if you're keeping count. She apologized profusely, while tears streamed down her reddened face. Despite how my breasts stung and felt like that one time where I had fallen asleep topless at Orient beach, in St. Martin’s, I smiled and told her everything was fine. What a crock of shit. Well, at least one of us believed me.
Composing myself, I headed into Mr. Tall, Dark, and Broody’s office or otherwise known as Angel O’Connor. He is such a pompous, self-righteous bastard, but anyone would say that about their ex. Yeah, I’m a cliché. I’ve slept with my boss. No, it didn’t happen that way. I wasn’t trying to sleep my way to the top. This was simply a case of two people being around one another all the time and things just happened. Believe me, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Especially when he’s hung like a hamster and his stamina is nil. All I can say is that after several times of less than stellar performances, we parted on amicable terms and are able to work side by side without any hang-ups. Well, at least on my part, for him this is an entirely different story, hence the broody-ness.
When I entered his office, I barely received a glance while his eyes remained fixed on his computer screen. By the furrow that etched his caveman brow, he appeared to be listening intently the other person who was chatting loudly on the other end of his earpiece. After a few minutes, he gave a placated response that contradicted the scowl he wore.
“Yes, I understand. I will be sending out my best employee to handle this matter personally. She will be there by tomorrow’s nine am meeting.—No, thank you. Good day.”
I knew the way he looked at me, I knew that I was this employee that he was talking about. Bastard. Before I could even ask, he took charge of the conversation. If he was half as good at taking charge in the bedroom as he was with conversations, I would still be sleeping with him. Shoulda, woulda, coulda…oh well, more fishes in the sea or anchovies in his case, shit, what did he say? I was too busy using witty, crass analogies about his small dick; I completely missed what he said.
"Excuse me?”
“I said, that the million dollar deal that we have been working on for the last six months is about to go belly-up! It’s that stupid Englishman that’s running the show over at Wolfram and Hart’s London office! He just decided that certain stipulations he agreed upon this past Friday. He doesn’t agree with now. Since the whole deal is running into the ground, he’s only willing to meet with someone personally to continue negotiations.”
“Sorry to ask, boss, but then why aren’t you going?”
“He’s refused to meet with me,” he said, running the words together making sound like one long garbled one.
“What?”
“He’s refused to meet with me. I don’t know why. Don’t really care. All I know is that you’re the only one I trust to handle this shit. Cordelia packed you a bag while we were meeting, so you don’t need to go back to your apartment. Your plane leaves LAX at noon.”
Before I could scream, for the sixth time today, his broody-ness kicked me out of his office. Un-fucking believable! That fucking ass hole must have given Cordelia my emergencies only key. Then he had her go to my apartment, rummage through my stuff and pack my bag for a surprise flight to London. A trip that’s sole purpose is for me to kiss the ass of a finicky big wig, because Angel fucked up royally in three days, which two of them being the weekend. What really chaps my ass is Cordelia probably saw the final scene of my shit storm of a morning, my running from my apartment one shoe on, one off, a piece of toast hanging from my mouth and my haphazardly buttoned, now ruined, blouse.
On the way out of Angel’s office, Cordelia handed me the needed files and a small carry-on. With the fucking smirk plastered on her face, I could tell when she packed for me, utter hate fueled her selections. She most likely picked out an outfit that didn’t match, or had more likely filled my bag with enough office supplies to mimic the weight of a packed bag. Then, when I arrive in jolly old England, I would open it only to find staplers and stacks of writing pads. Bitch.
See, Cordelia and I haven’t seen eye-to-eye for well, ever, but it got worse when she accidentally overheard a very private conversation between Angel and me, our break up. Since the moment she started working here, Cordelia wanted to be the Queen C in Angel’s empire, and despite all her attempts Angel chose me, which really burned her ass. It is even worse now especially since our break-up. Angel still shows no interest in her. What can I say the man has standards and taste.
When I finally made it downstairs, gratefully a taxi was waiting. After flashing me a gold-tooth smile, the sleazy driver pulled out into the line of traffic, and that’s where we stayed for the next hour. By the time we made it to LAX, I felt like I was going to vomit from the mixture of sweat, cheap cologne, and smog that polluted the taxi. When he pulled to the curb, he totaled the fare. Damn Cordelia! Of course she wouldn’t use the company’s expense account to spring for the ride. Fishing through my purse, I finally scrounged together enough money to cover the fare and even a six dollar and thirty-two cent tip. What? That’s all I had. Well, that and there was a fuzzy lollipop that I found at the bottom of my bag, which I offered him. He didn’t want it, oh well, his loss.
Entering the airport, I headed toward the check-in counter. After forty-minutes of weaving in and out of the designated ropes, it was finally my turn. Despite how Stepford Wife-ish the woman behind the desk appeared, with her fixed robotic smile on her bright cotton candy, pink lips and her falsetto voice, she was strangely quite pleasant. I quickly gave her my information as she entered it all into the computer, all the while that creepy plastic smile remained.
Did I tell you today had been a helluva day? I thought I did, but just to be thorough, I’ll say it again. Today was a helluva day. This was even before my current predicament was happening. Now the fact was indisputable. Cordelia had booked me on flight to London's Heathrow Airport, with a layover in Newark, New Jersey— the armpit of America.
Of course, the flight had to be booked solid. Despite the batting of my eyelashes and accentuating of my barely-there cleavage there was no other seat for me to relocate to. Even after I gave the steward a sob story, he told me that all seats were occupied. Thinking back, I shouldn’t have even wasted my time with fluttering eyelashes and flashing boobage since the steward only eyed the male passengers.
So here I sat, squished in the middle of two men: two very large, very sweaty, very nasty men. Both seemed to have skipped one critical activity on their daily agenda, tending to personal hygiene. You know things like bathing, using deodorant, and toothpaste— lucky me. The next three plus-hour flight I was grateful I only needed to breathe every forty-eight seconds. Believe me. I tried for longer, but no dice.
Then things went from bad to worse, when the stewardess served lunch. Now, I’ve seen feeding time at the zoo but this was worse, so much worse. Hell, I’ve even been nose to non-twitching nose with Mr. Gordo’s entrée, yet nothing prepared me for this. I was afraid, very afraid to place any body parts in their line of dine, fearing some appendage would go missing. So I remained still, very still, as Tweedle Scum and Tweedle Scummier devoured their meal. Following several grunts and growls later, the stewardess removed our lunches. I didn’t touch a bite. My appetite was on hiatus due to this enlightening Wild Kingdom experience.
After another hour of “‘how long can I hold my breath’”, the Captain announced that we would be descending into Liberty International. Hooray, a whole hour to breathe non-polluted air! This was the first break I would get from Mister Toad’s wild ride since breakfast in bed this morning. Then it happened. I had to have been really bad in a previous life or my karma really wanted to bite my ass, or that Murphy’s Law was simply making an example of me. Whichever it was, this day was going to begin and end in the same manner, fucking bad.
The Captain announced that we needed to circle before descent due to a flock of wild geese on the tarmac and more specifically, one goose that had been sucked up into the engine of a taxiing plane. Well, at least my day wasn’t that bad. I need to think of Mr. Slice and Dice bird when I decide next time to bitch about my day.
Yeah, I lied. Don’t give a fuck about how bad Mr. Goose’s day was mine I believe is still worse. It started approximately ten minutes after I tried to think positively. That’s when Tweedle Scum had a case of indigestion that bubbled forth from him in a series of noxious fumes. I would scream, for the sixth time today (remember I couldn’t get the scream out from Angel snuffing me like he did) yet I did not want any of that vile air that surrounded me to get into my mouth. Oh gross…too late, now I can taste what he had for lunch.
Finally, the Captain announced that we would be landing in ten minutes. That would give us, yup, twenty minutes in the airport. Nineteen of those minutes I would be spending walking to the next gate. Hey, at least I’ll be free from this toxic, gassy prison. The moment that the seatbelt lights turned off, I was climbing over the mountain of stink next to me. Nearly plowing over an old woman and a guy in a cast, I headed for the exit. I didn’t even stop when the stewardess welcomed me to Newark and her cheery, yet false wishes for me to “have a nice day.” Yeah, it’s too fucking late for that.
Dragging my carry on behind me, I headed toward the gate. Passing the bathroom, I glanced down at my still coffee stained blouse and hoped that Cordelia didn’t hate me that much as I headed into a stall. With a silent prayer, I zipped open my luggage. Color me surprised. Cordelia had packed me my favorite jade silk blouse, a black pencil skirt with matching belted jacket. She even put in a hairbrush, toothbrush, and deodorant. All the other toiletries such as shampoo and the like, I can get from the complimentary basket at the hotel. Not bad, not bad at all.
Then I saw them, several pairs of my granny panties, the ones that are only worn on those special times of the month. Well, this is Cordelia and she needed to get her digs in there somewhere. Gratefully, she didn’t find my battery-operated friend, Mr. Pointy. Now that would be difficult to explain when my carry-on went through the x-ray machine at the gate. Saving the skirt for tomorrow’s meeting, I slid off one blouse and donned the other. For the first time since this horrific day started, I felt somewhat normal. Running my hands through my toilet clean hair, I headed off to the gate.
squawks
05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
pj
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
Rabbit_moon1
12/23/16 01:12 pm
I donate every month. Please donate to keep this site up!
AudryDaluz1
10/06/16 08:34 am
Great post.
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:45 pm
And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;)
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:43 pm
Just wanted to take a moment to thank Pari and all the mods for maintaining such a great site!
05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
pj
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
Rabbit_moon1
12/23/16 01:12 pm
I donate every month. Please donate to keep this site up!
AudryDaluz1
10/06/16 08:34 am
Great post.
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:45 pm
And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;)
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:43 pm
Just wanted to take a moment to thank Pari and all the mods for maintaining such a great site!