Day 12 of Work Marathon

Highlights from Yesterday’s Income-Generating Activities:


    I think that if we set up cameras in the employee lounge and locker room at the Studio, we could launch a pretty successful reality TV show.


     I work with a girl named C.  She is hilariously funny and strikes me as slightly unbalanced.  I would never, ever fight with her.  I’d be scared that she would stab my ass.  She looks really feminine and she’s not gay, but she has a weird sort of aggressive, masculine energy.  It’s difficult to explain.  


     Anyway, once she found out that I was a masochist, she started to tease me relentlessly (not in a mean way).  


     “You’re a creep magnet, Redhead!” C said, shotgunning her beer.  Her platinum-blonde hair fanned out from her face and fell in soft waves over her shoulders. “I bet the creeps love you at parties!  Cause you like crazy old men twice your age who beat you up in hotel rooms!”


     I started to squirm and smile uncontrollably on the sofa.  


     “It’s true!  It’s true!” she declared.  “You want them to punch you in the face, huh?”  


      I erupted into insane giggles.  Guilty, guilty as charged!  


      “And what sort of freak owns a parrot, anyhow?” 


        *                        *                        *                       *         
   The ferocious terror-inducing Russian manager, Frau Farbissina, is outside screaming–screaming!–at a girl on the phone.  Nervous looks all around.  


      I cautiously go back to my typing.


      The screaming is punctuated by profanity.  “If you just vant to come here and seet on your ass, you clean out your locker!  You not vork at (Studio!) anymore!”


       As if on cue, all seven women in lounge stood up and started to groom, primp, or tidy up.  


              *                           *                      *                           * 
       Another Mistress, S.L., is a formally trained opera singer.  Her slave asked her to sing while she beat him, so she graciously sang something by Puccini.  You could hear her voice in every room.  It was beautiful.


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       “I have a surprise to show you, Miss Margo,”  said the man who hired me for half an hour.  “I have a secret.”  


        Uh-oh, I thought.  This could get ugly.  Surprises are par for the course at the Superstudio, but I still don’t like surprises in any part of my life.  Even good ones.  Uncertainty makes me anxious.  


        Nevertheless, I kept the gentle smile on my face.  


       “Oh, really?  What’s that?  Are you going to show me?”  I asked.


        The man was a spectacularly unattractive individual.  Good looks don’t impress me much and it goes without saying that I do not expect clients to be handsome.  They get the same quality of performance from me either way.  I also know that it’s cruel and shallow to discriminate against someone if they are ugly, because it’s out of their control.  


       But I have to tell you: this was an ugly, ugly dude.  Even with all this extra weight I’m carrying now, I am a fairly slender woman. This man was half my size.  He was wearing shorts and his thighs were about as thick around as a roll of cookie dough.  He had almost no hair on his head, but what was there was in long whisps.  He had some sort of skin disorder.  He looked a lot like Gollum in The Lord of the Rings.  He talked like Gollum, too.  


         He grinned up at me.  “I will show you!” 


         He moved his clawed, crusty hands down to his sock and started to pull it off.  


          I steeled myself inside, preparing for—what?  I wondered if maybe he had no toes.  


         When his sock slid off, I almost fell out of my chair.  


         He had perfectly pedicured, beautiful feet with rose-pink toenails and–get this–a delicate golden ankle bracelet.  


        His feet looked better than mine.  He probably had the best-looking feet in the house.  Maybe he works as a foot model.  


        “I get it done at the salon on my block!  The same Korean lady does it each time.  She likes me.  I go at 6 PM when it’s very busy.  I get to sit and look at all these beautiful, stylish women.  They never want to talk to me, but when they see me getting a pedicure, then they talk to me.  We have something in common!  Sometimes they take pictures of my feet with their cell phones.”  


      My heart melted.  Suddenly, he didn’t seem so ugly at all.  


2 thoughts on “Day 12 of Work Marathon”

  1. Hi, MTO!

    Yeah, that guy was a real sweetheart. I like vignettes too–boy o boy, the things you run into in this business! I’d write about it more often, but I feel a duty to respect peoples’ privacy.

    If you’re interested, the ones I’ve documented are under the tag label “The Biz.”

    Thanks for stopping by!

    Margo

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