You tap on your boss’s door.
“Do you have a moment?” You fold your forehead into its most concerned position.
“Sure, uh-uh-uh, come on in,” he says, clicking a few windows closed on his computer. You close the door behind you.
“I have to tell you about a disturbing discovery I made. I was looking for paperclips in Annelise’s drawer–I’d run out and I was really, uh, hitting a rhythm with my powerpoint, so I didn’t want to head to the supply closet.” That’s good. Bump yourself up a little while you’re at it. “And I found some items of mine that had gone missing, as well as some photos of me that were clearly taken without my knowledge.”
“Oh.” Your boss frowns, tenting his fingers together. “That sounds, uh-uh-uh, serious. There’s only one thing we can do.”
You wonder whether firing Annelise will mean an automatic raise for you. Your jobs aren’t anything alike, but they will have an extra salary’s worth of cash, right?
“We’ll go straight to H.R. You’ll need to fill out some, uh-uh-uh, paperwork.”
Oh. That’s less exciting.
Your boss walks you down the hall to Sharon’s office. The room smells like the stale cigarette smoke that always clings to Sharon’s clothes, and hair, and baseball-glove skin. You cough discreetly.
“Alright, hun,” Sharon’s voice sounds like a bullfrog working a phone-sex line. “You’re gonna need to fill this out for me,” she passes a clipboard across the desk. That shouldn’t take too–
At least that’s only a few pages worth of–
“And then answer this personality inventory questionnaire.”
“Can’t I just show you the things I–”
“SHHHP.” Sharon makes a shushing motion with one hand. “After you finish the documents.” Then she leans back in her chair and pulls out a book with male abs dominating the cover, waiting for you to finish your homework. Man, you should really have gone into H.R.
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