Clara’s pointy toed shoes tapped a warning to her coworkers; she was in a bad mood, and her walk reflected that. Every cubicle she passed contained someone typing industriously, scanning a sheaf of printout, or making an important phone call.
The problem wasn’t her mood, it was her hyper-criticality on days like these. Anyone caught slacking knew they’d be in for a dressing-down like no other.
Clara’s office door slammed behind her, and the whispering began. Everyone was dying to know the cause. Was it her mother again? Had she and Brian finally broken up? Or was it as boring as the time she fired Stephen over the barista sweetening her coffee?
Clara sat behind her desk, staring into space. She knew the whole office was talking about her. She wasn’t an idiot, for chrissake. She knew she was harder on them when she was going through a tough time, but by god, all they had to do was be competent.
It was neither her mother nor her boyfriend, and her coffee remained as dark and bitter as her soul. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Clara herself had no idea what was wrong with her, only that she’d woken up this way.
She pushed herself away from the desk and spun to look out the window. She crossed her arms and stared up at the wisps of whiteness streaking the sky.
Even in her black mood, Clara was able to admit to herself that the current team was possibly the best she’d ever supervised. If she left her office and started firing people over dirty fingernails and insignificant typos, she might actually have to answer to the big boss for her actions this time. She blew out a sharp breath through her nostrils.
She put her coat on as she stood and grabbed her bag.
Pointy toed shoes echoed all the way to the elevator, and when the doors slid closed behind her, the team breathed a collective sigh of relief. It was pretty great to have a boss who knew when she was going to be too much of a hardass.
In my mission to post more in 2018, I grabbed three pages of handwritten who-knows-what from the dresser to see if I’d already published any or all of it.
I have, but oddly enough, it’s been exactly two years to the day since I posted the last page of what I picked up, Character Sketch #5. That one also has the email for Human Resources jotted on the back, the one I had to send my statement to a while ago.
Gosh golly, y’all, I gotta get back into this blogging thing. And seriously take a time out and email someone about why I’m not getting emails. I just spent way too much time reading old post and not writing this one.
Anyway, here’s Transient, acrylic on 16×20 canvas.
Today I worked for a fellow driver, my first day shift at a Johnny’s Pizza House in like fifteen years. It was a slow day, but since LSU is playing Alabama tonight, we picked up quite a good bit once five o’clock hit.
Still, I feel accomplished. I worked ten hours, I rode with my sweetie, I ran 1.09 miles, and I painted. Now it’s time to shower and eat dinner.
Here’s Ambient Charisma, acrylic on 8×10 canvas, done with a palette knife.
I have a bad bobo on my finger and it hurts but I’m here because I love you.
Also because I put earplugs in because they block out the cold cruel world and calm me down and make me feel better.
I had the worst customer tonight. He was a jerk on the phone, he gave the wrong hotel room number, and then he wouldn’t answer his phone when I found out he gave the wrong room number. I know it was his fault because I was standing next to the girl who took his order, and she verified the number he said twice.
Anyway, he didn’t answer, and he didn’t give his last name so the front desk couldn’t help me. So I headed back to the store.
And when I was on my way back to the store, my manager called me because he called the store back. He threw a fit with her because she said sorry we’re closed after her greeting. Like, dude, we are closed. And you would be eating already if you weren’t so high. And then he argued about his room number, but she finally got it.
So I went back to the right room. Dude was gonna be in some serious shit if he had the number wrong again.
It was right.
Anyway, dude had a chair pulled up to his open hotel door. His butt was planted so firmly in that chair that he didn’t get up to take his drink, he didn’t get up to throw a fit about the drink he ordered, he didn’t get up to take his pizza, and he didn’t get up to sign his first name only on his credit card receipt.
And by the time I got back to the store, about four minutes, he’d already called and griped enough that my manager refunded his money.
I can’t stand people like that. Plus he was stoned! He should have been much more chill.
He’s the best part of doing dishes at work.