The Don's Crazy Obsession

I hate my job. For some reason, it's not enough that it takes all my time and energy, now it wants my soul. It's past nine p.m. and I'm still here, well past my patience threshold, begging God in all the languages I know to please make it stop. Sitting for two hours listening to boring analytics would do that to you… right after doing a lot of boring analytics yourself for about eight hours prior. 

Naturally, accounting is not the most fun thing to do- or listen to- but it pays well, and that's why I'm still here, the epitome of calm and grace while our head of department eats into time that should ordinarily go into my sleep therapy. For Pete's sake, I have to be up at five a.m. to continue this whole process tomorrow. I need all the rest I can get, and with my car in bad need of repairs, I have to walk to and from the bus stop, which is not exactly convenient since I wear four-inch corporate heels to work.

In fact, I don't remember the last time I wore anything but corporate past my front door. I'm too used to slaving for big firms with strict work rules and even stricter dress codes. So even though I've always wanted to dye my hair every pastel colour I know, I've stuck with the boring black I was born with, cut in a shoulder-length bob that I somehow manage to pull off- obviously by divine intervention, because I could have sworn that the hairdresser had it out for me that day. Ten minutes past the dramatic sniping of scissors, it was looking like a what-I-ordered-versus-what-I-got scenario.

"Miss Giovanni, are you following?"

Following what? I don't even want to be here. 

"I am," I reply. "Bionix Resources needs to expand investment expenditure, given the increment in profit from last month. Consumer behavior trends show that demand will rise exponentially in an estimated three months' time and we will need to increase production to be able to match up."

Sophia Martinez- also known as my head of department- gives me a look I know all too well. After years of corporate labour here, it gets easy to tell when she's not buying my bullshit. "While we were talking about something entirely different, that is a very key takeaway from all the analysis so far. Yet a concise summary of our previous discussion would have been much better than pulling us into a whole new curve."

Except I wasn't even listening to our previous discussion. 

"You know me, boss. I like to take the conversation a step further." A social philosophy popularly known as 'winging it'... Something I've been doing my whole life.

And that's one of the reasons I hate accounting. It doesn't allow you to wing anything. You either know it or you do not- no in-betweens- hence, I wasn't allowed to slack off in school even when I wanted to. My parents were paying big bucks to have me follow in their footsteps, being financial auditors themselves, so I couldn't let them down. Apparently, they have soteriophobia- the fear of disappointment- which in turn gave me atelophobia- the fear of not matching up to expectations- made worse by the fact that I have lots of cousins who have been sport, literature, music or science prodigies from a very young age. 

Since I have no God-given talents whatsoever, the best my parents knew they could get out of me was mold me in their image, so here we are. 

"I want all sub units to send in their resolutions by the end of tomorrow. For now, drive safe, and have a good night."

My gaze whips up to my boss instantly. Could it really be happening? After two hours of boardroom torture, is it finally over? Apparently. 

While Sophia heads out of the conference room, I shove all the open folders before me inside my tote bag and bound across the marble tiling, headed for the double doors. I'm the first to. Next is my bestie who gets in stride with me just as I reach the doorway. Dyna Torricalli.

She's blonde, curvy and just as crazy as I am. And until she came along, I honestly didn't think there was a soul in the world that understood me.

"Bitch, how you manage to crunch numbers as quickly as you do is possibly one of the wonders of the world, because you're a fucking goldfish with attention span," Dyna says as we join the connecting hallway. "And unfortunately for you, Sophia knows that."

I shrug, grinning. "You should know by now that my brain cells usually sign off at seven. Past that, if I manage to remember my name, you're extremely lucky."

Dyna is laughing. "It's Doofus, by the way. Your name."

"Thanks for the reminder."

"Is your car still at the repair place?" She asks. 

"Yep. And it might stay there a lot longer," I answer. "I think I knocked the engine out. The repair guy was telling me on the phone that I might have to get a new one, and I told him that if I thought I could afford a new engine, then I'd just get a new car. So far so good, I haven't bought a new car yet."

"Let me drive you home."

She lives all the way across town, it'd take her hours to get back home if she drove me. "Nope."

"It's so inconvenient, and it's pretty late too."

"I'll be fine."

Honestly, the inconvenience is the least of my worries. I'm more afraid of meeting creeps. Early this year, I met a self-proclaimed vampire with fangs that dropped soon after his announcement. It was such a shame because he wanted to turn me into one too. Not that I didn't run. His kind of crazy is the kind that should be medicated. 

One other time, a con artist tried to sell me magic beans. Honestly, I didn't know what I would do with those. Become Viola the Giant Slayer? Not that I believed him though. 

Three pick-pockets, one mugger, five homeless people, two money-doublers and four drunks later, it seems as if I have seen it all. 

Until tonight, that is.