save me

 Reporting from Work
Apr 112008
 

Last night I needed a short break from my loneliness, so I went outside and called Christina. While on the phone, a car crept into the lot. The headlights were suspiciously out. It only took me .3 seconds to yell, "Oh my god, DRIVE BY!" into the phone before taking off like a cartoon blur. It could have been gang initiation or something. I could have died so some asshole could become a Crip.

Once inside, I lingered in the hallway by the guard station. The loading dock door was open, and I saw the shady car pull into a spot up front. The lesbian security guard saw me huffing and holding my hand over my chest and she laughed at me because it was just one of the cleaning people.

But like that’s any better! There’s a new person on the cleaning staff and he appears to be straight out of the Pen. Last night, as he emptied my garbage can, as he lifted that garbage can with the same hands that maybe have garroted a hooker or stabbed a dealer, I politely thanked him. He grunted at me. GRUNTED at me. You know I whimpered audibly. 

Bob replied to my frantic email today and said the new cleaning guy is probably going to abduct me Buffalo Bill-style and now I’m full of fear and paranoia. Thank you, Bobby!

I guess it won’t matter that I’m all alone here at night once I’m DEAD. Because I doubt Eleanore will hear my screams over top of her coupon-cutting frenzy. Where’s Tina when you need her, you know?

Maybe I wouldn’t care so much if he was CUTE

 Reporting from Work
Mar 112008
 

Not surprising, the nightly cleaning team here at my job is a real motley crew. I try to avoid the supervisor at all costs — she sits in her office with her fake beehive hairdo, scraping her lethal fake nails along the desk and berating whichever cleaner forgot to refill the paper towels in the upstairs bathroom. (Never does she reprimend any of them for raiding vacant cubicles of candy though. Oh wait, that’s me.)

Her wingman is this rotund piece of sloppy shit with flapping jowls and tinted glasses. He usually rides in with her, otherwise I bet he’d be driving an unmarked kidnapping van. He swears loudly in a voice that makes him sound mildly retarded. Or drunk. He looks like he could be the villain on a cartoon.

I bet he smokes cigars.

I can’t stand him. He makes me feel molested. He makes me feel like he crawled into my window last night and touch my boobies while talking to me in babytalk and is remembering it every time he looks at me.

Last night, I was on my way back inside from a short break. I was forced to pass by him, but felt relieved because a security guard and another cleaning person were with him.

I thought I was safe. I began to slip through the door, when he started shouting in his disgusting voice that hacks up perversion on everything within earshot.

"IT SUCKS REAL GOOD!" he barked. "IT SUCKS REAL GOOD!"

Horrifed, I did what any other person would do, and turned around to see if he was forcing someone’s mouth upon his yuckystick.

We locked eyes.

"The SWEEPER! I was talking about the SWEEPER!" he laughed. At that moment, I vowed to never have sex again.