Squeezing myself outta that chair has opened the door to something else I kinda need to take care of right now.
“There’s one right across the street,” Vanessa purrs. Letting her eyes move away from mine and out the door.
Right where she wants me.
The framed diploma on her wall only catching my attention as I leave.
Diploma of what? Passive aggressive bitch?
But I ain’t got time to argue now.
All those pre-interview nerves and some office chair yoga mixed with the airline food I was stupid enough to actually eat on the budget flight over has all caught up with me.
By the time I reach the street all the fire’s gone out of me, and I can feel my tears welling up.
The familiar stabbing ache in my chest and belly.
Why are people so horrible? Why should it matter if someone’s heavy or not?
I make straight for the burger bar across the street, vowing to drown my sorrows and treat myself at the same time to an equally upsetting amount of fried food. And ice cream…
Right after I visit the little girl’s room…
I should be bawling my eyes out, but after you’ve done that a few hundred times it does get kinda old.
If anything I’m glad I don’t have to work in a place like that, but it means I’ve got trouble ahead.
I did great back there. If they don’t want me for me, that’s their loss.
Unfortunately, it’s also mine.
See. I kinda left home after telling my parents that I alreadyhada job. Thinking that the face-to-face interview was just a formality.
I run through my options a dozen times as I sit in the stall until it’s clear there’s more than one person waiting on me to get done already.
So I figure I have to go with the contingency that everything points to:
I’m screwed.
Ordering something more in line with my budget than my appetite, I shimmy into a narrow booth and realize there’s nothing else for it.
I’ll have to go home and tell my parents everything.
The two-star room I booked with my one-way budget flight can rot some more, there’s no point staying the night.
I can feel this lousy at home.
If I still have one.
Mom and dad are always making noise about converting my room into a home office for my mom if I ever leave which I kinda did.
Just not officially.
Puffing out a long breath, I scroll my options home on my phone.
Forgetting all about the stupid scratch ticket and pushing the recent memory of the interview into the same room in my mind.
I focus on the here and now. About what I’m gonna do to get back home.