A Little More Than Convenient

|Carmen Remington|
Tuesday was one of the worst days of my life. I was at Craighead Electric, where I work. Now, I know that Craighead sounds weird, but that’s what the county in Jonesboro was called. It was (surprise, surprise) an electric company that served the entire county, going all the way from Jonesboro to Brookland. It was highly successful, mainly because there wasn’t much competition at all. Plus, we sent out a monthly magazine about the latest news in Craighead County, including finance, electricity, and weather.
The night before, Trent and I had ordered some crab rangoon and sweet and sour chicken. It gave me wicked indigestion, thus, I was up all night, eating bread and drinking water. Thus, I woke up to pee like, thirty times. Thus, this morning I was a little less than exhausted. And to top it all off, Michelle actually came to work today.
Michelle Fitzgerald wasn’t the bane of my existence, but she was fairly close. Blond hair, blue eyes, and a killer figure, she was as dumb as a brick. I’m serious. I’d met paper smarter than her. And I’m not saying that because she was blond, because, technically, she wasn’t. She’d dyed her hair from dark, dark brown, to blond. Her roots were almost black, as were her eyebrows. She was always a bitch to me, and the other receptionist, Anita.
Anita was a sweetheart. She always bought me presents for my birthday and Christmas, and brought me Subway sandwiches. She was a little older than me, thirty, with twin boys, six years old. She has dark blond hair, that’s greying a little at the edges, and light green eyes. Her best feature, though, was her sparkling smile.
Anita, Michelle, and I are the secretaries for the main boss, Mr. Keith Fuller. Not that Michelle did any work, of course. No, she pawned her work onto Anita and I, so that she could go sleep with the boss. She was his mistress. Two years ago, he hired her so that they could have sex easier. He’s never told Anita and I this, but I’ve heard them having phone sex, she’s bragged about it, and I accidentally walked in on them once. I’m not sure why Michelle wants him. He’s in his forties, and is starting to sag. Maybe she’s just a gold digger. Either way, I get really sick of doing her work.
That particular day, I was readying some papers for a new client. I’d already printed them out, so all I had to was put them in a folder, and have Michelle deliver them to Mr. Fuller. However, Michelle was nowhere to be found. More than likely, she was having one of her “meetings,” as she called it, with Mr. Fuller. Thinking of Mr. Fuller reminded me that I had yet to give him his coffee. I picked up his latte every morning, and then Michelle delivered it to him. But like I said before, I’d yet to see her.
“Anita, have you seen Michelle today?” I asked.
She nodded. Since Anita doesn’t have to pick up his coffee, she comes in thirty minutes before me. “I saw her come in. She didn’t say anything to me, but she disappeared into Mr. Fuller’s room.
I shook my head in annoyance. “I have his coffee, and the papers,” I said, holding up the latte. A dribble fell onto my finger. “Ouch!” I exclaimed. The latte dropped out of my hand...and landed right onto my paperwork.
Anita’s eyes widened.
“Crap!” I yelled, picking the cup up. I dashed to the break room for paper towels, spinning off the spool, and knocking it to the floor. Running back to my desk, I tried to mop the coffee off the papers. But it was too late, and the papers were ruined.
I tossed the papers and paper towels into the trash and sighed. “Crap! Shit! Fuck! Fuckity, fucking, fuck!”
Anita obviously stifled a laugh. “Sweetheart, calm down. I have a copy of it on this flash drive.” She held up a purple SanDisc.
I half glared at her. “Thanks for telling me, friend.”
I snatched the flash drive away from her and plugged it into the computer. I typed, command P, and printed it out.
“I’d better take this to Mr. Fuller now,” I said, “before I spill anything else on it.”
She chuckled and I headed to Mr. Fuller’s room.
I knocked; no answer.
I knocked harder; still no answer.
So, I opened the door. Now, I wish I hadn’t. Michelle was sprawled on the desk, with her skirt and top pulled off. Now, all she wore was a bra and panties. Mr. Fuller was wearing slacks and nothing else.
He spotted me and sent Michelle out. After she’d left, and snidely called me a nosy busybody. “Miss Sanchez...,” he started.
“Mrs. Remington,” I corrected, “I got married this weekend.”
He all but rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Mrs. Remington, that was very intrusive of you.”
I sighed. “Mr. Fuller, I bring you your coffee and papers every morning that Michelle isn’t here, and today, I never saw her. So, I came myself.”
“Have you ever been instructed to do this?” he asked, impolitely.
“No, but-”
“Would I have wanted you to come in to my office unannounced?”
“No, but-”
“Exactly,” he replied, “I’m sorry, Carmen. You’ve given me four good years, but I have to let you go.”
My eyes shot open and I leaned forward. “I’m fired?! I can’t be! I really and truly can’t! Mr. Fuller, I need this job! Do you know how in debt I am?! Do you know how much I-”
“Miss Sanchez,” he interrupted, not calling me my name again, “Please collect your things.”
I shot up out of his chair and out of his office.
It’s Mrs. Fucking Remington, jerk!, I screamed in my head.
I gathered my things into my purse and briefcase, angrily.
“What’s wrong?” Anita asked.
“I just got fired,” I snapped, then I realized I’d just been mean to her, “I’m sorry,” I apologized, “I’m just a little bitter.”
She smiled wanly. “What happened?”
“I walked in on them,” I explained.
She shook her head. “Mmm, mmm, mmm.”
I finished gathering my stuff when my phone rang. It was Trent. “Hello?” I said.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, instantly worried. I was surprised that he knew I was upset.
“I just got fired,” I replied with mock happiness.
“How come?” he asked quickly.
“Long, long, long story,” I replied.
“Oh,” he replied.
“I’m screwed,” I replied, forcing myself to chuckle.
“No, you’re not,” he replied.
“I’m not?”
“I’m hiring you,” he replied.
“You are?”
“Yes,” I felt myself smile, “I need a party planner. And a personal secretary. If you want it, the job’s yours. You’ll start tomorrow.”
I laughed. “Thank God for you!”
“Yeah!” he replied, laughing, too, “Also, I’ve got some more news.”
“What?” I asked.
“You are talking to the vice president of Liberty Bank, Jonesboro Branch!”
I squealed like a teenager seeing Justin Bieber in concert. “You are?!”
“Yep, and so, to celebrate, I paid off your Visa bill!”
I raised my eyebrows. “Really!”
“Yes,” he replied, “I’ve gotten part of my deal, so I figured, why not give you part of your deal?”
“Thanks, Trent, I really owe you.”
He chuckled. “No, Carmen, I really owe you. Without you, I’d never have been vice president. Well, I’ve really got to get back to work.”
“I don’t,” I said smartly.
He laughed. “I’ll see you at home.”
“Ditto.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
I pressed End on the phone, said goodbye to Anita, and kissed that shitty job goodbye. Things were looking up. Now, I could go home and sleep off the indigestion-filled night.