Disillusion Meets Delight Read Free Page B

as a root canal.  Jan is so pretentious.  She is always bragging about how well Mallory does in this and how successful Mallory is in that .  I don’t know how my mother has been friends with her so long and Mallory!  Ugh!  She is about as interesting as a book about potting soil, no offense to potting soil.  She is really tall and slender and just got a job promotion at her advertising agency.  I really don’t know how she got it because apart from her 4.0 GPA from Berkeley and her perfect teeth and hair and wardrobe from Saks, she really isn’t all that great.  In fact, I find her quite overrated.  At least brunch will include mimosas.  Spending the morning with my mother, Jan and Mallory Wellington must include alcohol if I am to survive.  I am not an alcoholic by any means, but I have never discounted champagne’s ability to make certain situations somewhat tolerable.  It is all about survival really, isn’t it?
     

Chapter Five
     
     
     
    Every day, Monday through Friday, I do the same thing.  I drag myself out of bed, scramble to get my first cup of coffee, feed the cat and hope both my shoes match as I run out the door to my car.  Then I race the other cars to merely wait at the on ramp to only sit and wait on the freeway as some brain dead fool decided that only two lanes would be necessary for commuters to drive on.  I know what you’re saying.  If I cared anything about our depleted environment, I would take public transportation and be done with the commuting nightmare.  Well, yes, I suppose that is an option considering my company provides free Tri-Met stickers annually and I live a mere three miles from a nearby MAX train stop.  However, I really enjoy my new grown-up car.  It has cup holders and air conditioning and is quite nice all around.  So, I battle the commute each day and feel just a little bit more irresponsible and decide to start a recycling campaign at the office to ease my guilty conscience.
     
    When I finally reach my destination, I go to my desk, check my email, listen to my voicemails and proceed to go about my day.  Nothing changes in my workweek apart from the homeless person that stands outside my air conditioned, polished car asking for a buck after I squander 4 of them on a lukewarm cappuccino.  This particular Monday was different than its predecessors.  There was something in the air that posed the notion that something was about to change.
     
    While walking to my desk, I hear whispers from coworkers in little crowds.  Some new and exciting gossip I presume as I sit down, turn on my computer and arrange my papers.  My phone rings and I dabble with the thought of letting it go to voicemail when something tells me to pick it up.
     
    “Hi it’s me, Laura.  I’m not there obviously!”  Then it just occurs to me that Laura isn’t here.  Usually it is her loud joyful laugh that echoes through the corridors but not this morning.  This morning is filled with an eerie background of whispers and tension.
     
    “What’s going on?  Why aren’t you here?”  I panic because I know something is wrong.
     
    “Natalie, I got fired.  They fired me!  When I came into work this morning, they had my paycheck in their hands.  I just wanted to tell you before you heard it in office gossip.  I gotta go but I will call you later.  I have to come in after everyone has left to get my stuff.  They’re going to have a security escort and everything.  You would have thought that I was embezzling or something!  Oh well.  Keep in touch.  I’ll talk to ya later.” And with that, she was gone.  My work confidante, lunch buddy and all around pal was gone.  I was left to defend myself against the gossip mongers and village idiots.  This is horrible and just when I think it could not get any worse, I receive an email from Mr. Woodhouse asking to meet with me at 10:00 in his office. 
     
    With the anticipation of my mid morning meeting, I cannot concentrate