Chasing Her Light - Resisting My Brother's Bestie

Tissue War

My desk is stacked with several piles of folders and papers, higher than it was on Friday. Hell, it was clear on Friday. I wrinkle my nose and squeeze my eyes shut in frustration.

I manage to drop my books onto a (barely) open spot somewhere in the middle. I'm able to squeeze my breakfast bag somewhere into the mess of papers, folders, whatever.

𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 600 𝘈𝘭𝘦𝘹.

I plop down onto my overly squeaky office chair and sigh. I really should ask for a new one.

I massage my temples as I close my eyes.

Every day.

EVERY SINGLE f*****g DAY there's something that goes wrong.

And every single f*****g day I'm the one to clean it up.

I feel like a kindergarten teacher, chasing around snotty nosed brats with snotty nosed parents and their snotty nosed bosses.

There are not enough tissues on this planet to clean up all the snot.

I gag. Absolutely disgusting.

The clicking of a (I assume) very expensive pair of heels pulls me out of my thoughts of seeking after the world's largest stash of tissues. The overwhelming stench of some hoity toity, high falutin perfume and a high pitched, shrill giggle (yes giggles can be shrill) announces the arrival of Vivian, the dramatic (very overly dramatic) resident office b***h.

She's an absolutely obsessive, oblivious, ridiculously flirtatious, "God's gift to men", and an entitled as f**k demoness.

"Of COURSE, Mr.Tatum... I'll make sure it's done right away."

I swear I can hear her long fake eyelashes flapping. I snort, amused by her idiocy.

She is convinced that our boss is related to Channing Tatum. I don't know how many times I've heard her gossiping when she was supposed to be working. She rustles papers like crazy at the end of every sentence to cover for her non-existent work ethic.

"I swear I'm going to make him crazy about me."

𝘙𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘦, 𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘦.

"I think he's Channing's brother," she'd tell any unfortunate soul in the vicinity while fluttering her lashes at absolutely nothing.

Gold digger.

Pfffft

Now, I will admit, Gary Tatum does look kinda... just kinda... like Channing Tatum. Height, build, coloring, but just... it makes me cringe in embarrassment on her behalf.

What's sad is I think he's completely oblivious to her advances. On the other hand she doesn't notice his disinterest. She's absolutely convinced she's gonna friggin marry the guy.

She makes me gag about as much as I gag over the booger/tissue battle.

Definitely not enough tissues to clean up her sliminess. No siree. She's like those boogers kids stick to random surfaces. Sticky, hard, and impossible to get rid of.

I wince as another shrill laugh crosses the room, sinking it's claws into my eardrums.

The sound reminds me of the meeting that I'm about to be late for. I nearly bust out of my office (who am I kidding? It's a cubicle.) dodging my coworkers while vehemently apologizing. I hear voices of protest and irritation after I nearly run several people down (bumper cars anyone?). I end up hopping the last ten feet, trying to get my foot back into my shoe after it nearly pops off my foot.

𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘢 𝘊𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢. I roll my eyes at myself.

I pull myself into the meeting room just as everyone takes a seat. Heart pounding, I manage to snag one in a back corner. I try to shrink down a little which isn't really hard considering I'm barely over five feet. It feels like I'm back in high school, trying to sneak into class after the bell rings. I'm so friggin nervous that I'm about to relapse back to my severe nail biting habit.

I carefully watch Mr.Tatum as he stands at the front, fidgeting with some papers and a tablet on the massive table while Vivian stands by his side, fake organizing papers with her fake smile (I have yet to figure out what her actual job title is).

𝘙𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘦, 𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘦.

I think you've figured out by now that we're not the best of friends. I mean, it's hard to be friends with someone who treats you like the toilet paper on the bottom of their shoe.

Hmmmm... that's another source of tissue... quite possibly I may find enough tissue for the problem...

I'm snapped out of my thoughts by the sudden intake of breath from the front of the room.I feel the nervousness and anticipation build up, hoping that maybe, just maybe, I'll get lucky this time around.

"Alright my dudes," he begins.

Not this "my dudes" talk again.

I try to smile but I'm pretty sure it comes off as a grimace.

Embarrassing as f**k. I resist the urge to cover my face with my hands. Not a good place or time to do it. I could just use the excuse of trying to keep the sun shining through the floor to ceiling windows from blinding me.

I try to focus as he drones on, using well known office jargon that has absolutely nothing to do with the subject at hand. I feel my eyes glaze over as my mind began to wander. I'm suddenly brought back to attention by one phrase.

"... After much consideration, and a lot of discussion back and forth with corporate, we've chosen our new management staff..."

I feel my heart rate pick up and grip the edge of my seat. I breathe out slowly, trying to steel myself for either a state of celebration or a low blow peppered with traces of despair.

"We've brought a few people in from other departments and I'd like to introduce them to you..."

I feel my heart drop but I quickly collect myself. 𝘏𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘯.

He drones on as he introduces a few people, a grumpy looking older woman, a 20-something nervous looking white guy and a smiling black man who looks close to 50. He then announces several of my coworkers who have been promoted. I try not to let my disappointment show. My throat feels thick as I try to swallow.

It's not until I hear one name that my head swings towards the front of its own accord, not believing what I see.

"...and as my head manager in the editing department, Chase Gray."

Awwww hell.