Late for the Interview
- Aarrgh! Where’s my Wave & Groom? Where’s my fucking volumizer spritz? Why can’t I find anything. I’m late, I’m late! Jeezus. My interview at the Burning Bridges Greeting Card Company is at 12!
Ah, I’ve been looking for my sunscreen. Here it is. Okay, I can put this on after I put my contacts in but before I apply my hair products to my head. I don’t want to contaminate my lenses. This is so frustrating, the Downy Wrinkle Release hasn’t dried yet on my cummerbund and I still have to look up how to tie a bowtie online. I ususally wear a clip-on with my tux, but I want to make a really good first impression today, so I purchased a real one at Dee & Dee.
Ugh, I can’t put on this shirt until I shave my chest! What am I thinking? Oh God, I’m out of deoderant. Fuck. Wait, it’s okay, my old roommate Debbie left hers in the medicine cabinet. Secret?! Figures she wears this. *Sniff* Damn it! It smells like dumb bitch. Well, I can't just sweat profusely down the insides of my sleeves. Or can I? No, I probably shouldn't.
*Ding Ding* Oh good, my Eggo waffles are done toasting. Perfect. I can eat these while I brush my teeth. I’m gonna be so freaking late to this. Maybe I should call and say I’m behind schedule? That’s so unprofessional though. Maybe I can skip the slow F train, run a few extra blocks now, and take the Q Express train instead. That could save me 8 minutes on my commute. I hate riding with all those minorities though. Oh, what to do...
*Gets out cell phone*
“Hello Mr. Bridges? Hi yes, this is Nate S. How are you? Me? I’m okay, I’m running just a bit late. Why? Oh, my reason?...uh..I was uh...I was stabbed! Where? On 7th Avenue. Oh, um...In the head!! Yeah, some guy just totally stuck me with a shiv. Owwwww. Oh sorry...it’s just that this knifewound hurts so much. I’ll be there as soon as I can, Mr. Bridges. Reschedule? No way! I’ll be there. I’ll be there at 12:20. Thank you for understanding. Bye-bye.”
Damn it, I’m an idiot. Now I have to blade my fucking forehead just like professional wrestlers do. Figures, all my knives are dirty in the sink. Ah, here's my boxcutter. Before I give myself a crimson mask, I'll throw those contacts in finally and finish this waffle. This is such a relief now that I don't have to be there at 12. Maybe I have time to rewatch the premiere of Desperate Housewives I taped. No, I should just unplug the toaster, take a shower, shave my chest, put my tux on, slice open my brow with a razorblade, call Mr. Bridges to tell him I'm going to be later, do my hair, and go.