Chapter 2
Birdie
I’ve never been into Halloween. The whole idea of it is just weird to me.
Creepy and evil shit everywhere? No thank you.
I have enough scary thoughts of my own. Thank you, anxiety— I don’t need to purposely freak myself out.
And if today wasn’t spooky enough on it’s own, I now find myself standing in a glass elevator holding a vintage coca cola crate spilling with the contents of my desk drawers heading towards the lobby of the publishing house I used to work for.
Emphasis on the used.
Stella, my boss, called me into her office about thirty minutes ago and wasted no time by letting me know that there wasn’t really a need for my assistance anymore.
I kind of started to black out so I can’t even really remember what she was saying.
Something about Tammy, the new office manager, suggested getting creative with assistants and cutting the “fluff” to save on some overhead.
I felt like I was watching myself from outside of my body as I saluted to Stella after she gave her speech.
All I could muster was a drawn out, “alrighty then.”
So apparently I salute to people and say alrighty then.
I’m that girl. Wow, I’m something to behold aren’t I?
If doing the ‘I’ve just been fired’ walk of shame down a windowed elevator for everyone in this building to see wasn’t humiliating enough, I chose today to wear my new pink tights with hearts on the knees and my chunky white pumps, a pink plaid pleated skirt and silky white blouse.
I mean, I look adorable—but you can tell I’ve been blindsided, because this is not an outfit I’d wear to work if I had any notion of getting fired.
I’d obviously wear my black tights with lighting bolts on them for that occasion.
Going out with a bang. Get it?
The elevator stops on the 7th floor, and the doors open as I have my head thrown back while groaning “I’m so pathetic.
” I’m too busy wrapped up in my own pity, I don’t even notice who has stepped into the elevator.
I pull myself back to reality and find myself standing behind a group of older gentleman in designer suits, very shiny, very polished loafers, discussing their weekend tee times.
Maybe this is good. Maybe I needed this to happen.
I really don’t fit in here, and I’m too damn loyal for my own good.
I would have remained Stella’s bitch forever probably, just waiting for her to promote me, which she probably would never end up doing because she is actually the worst. She’s like Halloween if Halloween was a person.
I’ve been here for five years in hopes that my career as a journalist would come to fruition, but here I am, five years later—jobless and wearing pink tights.