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What a great dream. I was back at my alma mater, having the time of my life, and…wait, why is the sun shining? No, really. Why is it light outside? Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit SHIT! Why didn’t my alarm go off? What time is it? 8:39. 8:39?! I was supposed to be up almost 45 minutes ago! There’s no way I can get ready in 21 minutes, much less make it to the office by then. FUCK ME.
I need to make it to the bathroom mirror. Ouch! Note to self: pick up shoes in the middle of the hallway before you stub your toe AGAIN. Oh shit, is that really what I look like when I wake up? No wonder I don’t have a boyfriend. Anyway. There’s obviously no time for a shower, but I have to do something about this hair. Dry shampoo. Thank God for dry shampoo. This looks okay, right? I mean, it could be better, but it could definitely be worse too. Looks like I’ll have to do my makeup in the car. Here’s hoping I don’t die.
Why is my head throbbing? Oh yeah. Coffee. I need coffee. Good thing I have a brand new, high speed espresso machine. HA! Who am I kidding? It’ll take at least fifteen minutes to get a decent cup out of this piece of shit drip-brew I bought freshman year of college. Damn, I really need to replace this thing. Maybe after I pay rent next week.
There’s a Starbucks on the way. Ooh, a venti skinny caramel latte with an extra shot of espresso does sound tempting. Surely there are at least seven cars in the drive-through by now though. Oh well. I didn’t need to spend $6 on a latte anyways. Oh! The office just got a new Keurig last week. Can I make it 30 minutes without coffee? I’ll just pop some Advil and hope for the best.
So. Much. Traffic. Is it always this bad at…8:53?! I haven’t even hit the interstate yet. I’m dead. I’m so dead. Gotta distract myself. What’s on the radio? Morning talk show, morning talk show, and, oh great, ANOTHER morning talk show. Those are going to speed up the time. I’ll just plug in my iPod, annnd of course it’s dead. Surely 20 minutes of silence can’t be that bad.
*Two minutes pass*
God, I’m so bored. What is there to do? I guess I could start on my makeup, annnd almost stab my eye out. I can go to work with mascara on just one eye, right? I’ll just check Facebook. Oh, look, pregnancy photos. Congratulations. At least I don’t have to buy maternity clothes. And now people three years younger than me are getting engaged. Great. I’m so glad I checked Facebook. Just kidding. Am I almost there?
Thank God. I thought I was never going to get here. 9:12. Only 12 minutes late. That’s not that bad, right? That’s bad. That’s really bad. Oh shit. I’m going to get fired. Surely they wouldn’t fire me, right? I’m an invaluable part of this operation. Pfft just kidding. This is an entry-level job. They could find someone in a heartbeat. Okay, here it goes.
Just look casual. Don’t look guilty. You’re SUPPOSED to be here at 9:12. Hmm. Where’s the firing squad? Not that I’m complaining, but didn’t anyone miss me? I guess I’ll just go to my desk. Whew. That could have been a lot worse. Definitely not worth the anxiety though. I’ll never be late to work again.
*Repeat cycle 1-3 times per month*
Respond
Steph W.
Steph W. is a new Master's degree graduate with an intern's salary and six-figure taste. She realizes her expectations far exceed reality, so she spends her days pinning away Loubs she pretends are in her physical closet instead of her virtual one. Her hobbies include attempting to trapping her boyfriend into marriage before he finds out how insane she is and pretending that Black Box wine tastes as good as the kind she could afford when she was gainfully employed. Send her tips for getting out of student debt at recruitchairtsm@gmail.com
@therecruitchair
1-3 times a month? I definitely did this at least twice a week. Except fuck the makeup, there are no drive-thrus, and exchange driving for trying to catch a subway, then pushing and shoving with the other 200 people on the platform trying to catch the local train, only to find out there was some electric malfunction two stops ahead of your station, or some idiot fell between the train cars. And if you do manage to get on enjoy having your face smushed into a stranger’s armpit as some greasy guy grinds against you under the pretense of “hey, it’s a crowded train”.
“Eh, fuck it I’m salaried”