I went out with the girls after work. I wanted to make peace. They had a beef with me because I was late on Thursday for the required 8:30-6:30 hours. The most important measure here is attendance. How can I fight the counting of hours when I work for a trucking company?
I sat across from them – two large-breasted, well-fed suburban girls. They said I was taking too much spare time for myself. Here is why I was not at work:
I was stopped by the police for not having the sticker on my driver’s license renewed. I tried a week earlier, but I had to do something called a ‘drive-clean’ test. I didn’t have time to do it so it went seven days overdue.
The officer said I should not be allowed to drive without the sticker. He went back to his car with my papers to write me a ticket. I waited 10 minutes. I was in a very disadvantaged neighborhood – watching the poor kids walk by. I felt sad for some of them, in ratty old winter coats – I never thought kids actually lived in this dangerous neighborhood. Suddenly, a tow truck pulled up in front of me. I jumped out of my car like someone in COPS, and ran back to the officer.
“What is THAT doing here!” I said with tears in my eyes, “It’s not fair! It’s just a sticker!” The officer ordered me to get back into my car, and explained that the tow truck driver was just his friend. They chatted for ten more minutes, I cried in my car as I watched more kids walk by. He came up and handed me $220 in tickets, which I can’t afford. He said that if I wanted to fight he would see me in court. I drove around and did all of the required paperwork and got to the office at around 11:00.
When I got there, my boss, a 1980s style executive with still a hot body, said that I had to make up the hours because the girls were complaining. I told her that it was exceptional but she did not care.
That night - I tried to explain to the girls – they are under me in rank – but my boss does anything to make them happy. They didn’t care about what happened, or that I had no family in the city to help me. They had issues too – apparently living with their parents in suburbia is a difficult life – they had absolutely no sympathy for me showing up late – for any reason. After assuring them that I would work over the weekend to make up the hours, I went to meet my married boyfriend at the coffee shop.
He was happy to see me – and complimented me on my outfit (a red plaid skirt, red shoes and a black tight shirt), on my hair, on me. He was thoughtful and understanding. I felt relieved. We talked about how I had to get out. He is a seasoned business man and the fact that he thinks I can do better means something. I felt calm but tired. We went back to his hotel and ate sushi and ice cream in bed. We made love and talked all night. It was nice. I’ll remember that night forever.