This Way For The Gas, Ladies And Gentlemen

"Ms. Smith, a complaint has been filed with HR. You have been accused of misusing your personal vehicle for unauthorized commercial activity." The administrative manager dropped a printed copy of the so-called joint complaint onto the desk, a faint, knowing smile on her lips. The company had decided to issue me a fine, placed a formal warning on my record, and revoked my performance bonus for this quarter. I stared at the handwriting on the complaint, then let out a short, incredulous laugh. I recognized it instantly. It was Selena Rogers. The same coworker who had been hitching rides with me to and from work every day for the past three years. It was all because of last night's storm. She had insisted I take a long detour to drive her to the mall so she could pick up her boyfriend, and I had said no. Then, in the break room, Selena's voice carried loud and clear. "Jennifer, I didn't have a choice. "We have to keep work and personal matters separate. The transportation stipend from the company isn't for you to make extra money." Around us, coworkers glanced over, whispering and pointing, as if they had completely forgotten how eager they once were to ask for a ride home. I took a slow breath. "Fine. I accept the company's decision." Then I pulled out my phone and made a call. "Mr. Wallace, I won't be renewing the lease on those two vans. "Yes. The ones that have been picking up and dropping off the admin and sales teams every day, free of charge." For three years, I had been the easygoing one, paying out of my own pocket every month to lease those vehicles so my coworkers could treat it as a perk. If that was now considered unauthorized business activity, then from this day on, everyone could figure out their own way to get to work.

"Dude, let me see whose is bigger. Yours or my boyfriend's." On a truck along the Sicherian-Timbre Highway, a couple hitched a ride from me. The lady, Jean Shelley, was dressed provocatively. I couldn't help getting aroused, pitching a tent. Unexpectedly, Jean was very open-minded. She actually wanted to use her hand to measure how big I was. What made my blood race even more was that her boyfriend, Ray Brook, wanted her to use her body to pay for the ride.

I become a firefighter after getting abandoned by my ex-wife, who's a domestic abuser. At first, I think my fiancee, the heroic Captain Cassadee Flack, will be my salvation. But at the blazing scene, the warehouse explodes for the second time due to the scorching temperature. What makes things worse is that the oxygen in my tank will deplete soon. I reach out to Cassadee for help, only to witness her passing the last spare oxygen tank to Colin Halfpenny, the teammate standing next to her. "This is Colin's first time entering a blazing scene. He's terrified, whereas you have enough experience under your belt to deal with this situation. You should hang on for a while longer." I'm choking on so much thick smoke to the point that I almost suffocate from it. Angered, I point at the blinking red light on the control panel. "If I keep suffering from the lack of oxygen, my brain will eventually die! This is the standard procedure of a rescue mission!" Cassadee wears an impatient look. "Why are you being this petty? I promised Colin's dad, who sacrificed himself for me, that I'd take good care of Colin! Can't you be more empathetic? "I thought you could endure pain the best! Back then, you didn't even let out a groan when your ex-wife broke your rib! How is it possible that you can't endure such a small difficulty in this mission? "I finally understand what kind of person you actually are! Someone who's grown up in nothing but pain and misery is bound to be selfish!" I no longer utter a single word to Cassadee. Instead, I use all of my strength to press the emergency SOS button on my helmet. "Command center, please send help immediately. The on-site commander has demonstrated severe misjudgment in handling the situation. I request compulsory intervention."

After pulling an all-nighter to finish a group assignment, I wanted only one thing: sleep. I did not even get 10 minutes. My roommate, Ronda Jones, burst into the dorm, raging about class. She shouted into her headset and turned our room into a storm of insults and keyboard slams. When I quietly asked her to keep it down, she turned on me instead. Then the power went out, and a 5-dollar electricity bill became the excuse she had been waiting for. I refused to split it. That single decision set everything in motion.

My car is parked properly in its own slot, and yet my neighbor decides to take a photo of it so that he can post it on the residents' group chat. His tone is clearly passive-aggressive. "Look, everyone! This car is parked sideways and has taken up two parking slots! Does the car owner even have a shred of moral decency? "She thinks the public parking lot is now her own property just because she's paying the parking rent!" I don't say anything at all. Instead, I just upload photos of my property deeds. "Excuse me, but first of all, these two slots are my private parking slots. Secondly, if you start counting from those two slots six times to the right, you'll find eight parking slots. Yeah, those are all mine."

During a weekly meeting, a new intern suddenly swapped the projection. The screen lit up with my attendance records, and all my colleagues’ eyes turned to me. The girl lifted her chin, a mix of arrogance and ignorance in her gaze, then slammed a stack of photos onto the conference table. “Mr. Anderson, I’d like to report her! She’s been using the company car to shuttle her family around, treating company resources like her personal vehicle. This must be dealt with immediately!” The room fell into an eerie silence. I looked at the eager intern, feeling a trace of sympathy. The “company car” she was complaining about was my luxury car. Three years ago, I had lent it to the company for appearances in business settings. Yet, I never charged a cent.