The Bucketlist

12| SLUSH PILE AND DRUNK BOSS

3 pm

The afternoon at Bexley's could give anyone a concussion, not a headache a concussion.

I had barely managed to slip into the reality after the elevator incident when a pile of unorganized manuscripts stacked up at my table. A white sticky note popped at the top, it read in very clear handwriting-

'Script editing is due by afternoon.

Good day ^_^.'

Good day, my ass. I knew these were the manuscripts recycled from the trash pile because there were some 'We believe that every story has a potential policy, and they'd hunt down for unpolished manuscripts with great plot-line but terrible language flow. The authors were contacted and convinced to pay a little extra for touching up their works, making them better than before. The trouble with such manuscripts was they took a lot more time than usual.

As the authors paid for the services, they would often turn out to be demanding and sometimes a bit less tolerating. Only the wittiest of editors handled the trash pile treasure. While it might be a form of appraisal, each manuscript from the trash pile would take  hours. There was no way to get thirty of them done by the afternoon.

The office was pretty empty on Sunday, and the reception desk was left unattended on the weekend. About fifty cubicles lined up with french windows and wooden desks accommodated with computers, paper piles, and a variety of pens and pencils. Cassie had turned in for the daily cleaning routine, and when she did, she had shot me the most sympathetic smile.

"I know he makes you work like a beast. Wait for the paycheck, girl!"

She said with a warm smile.

"I am Cass."I winked back.

When I had a moment to stretch my back, Cass was done with her shift and left for her weekend drill.

Three scripts down. Twenty-seven more to go.

I sighed at my progress.

At this rate, I knew it would take me forever to edit the manuscripts. Maybe, I will go and tell Tyranny Turner to grant me leave for the day, and he will have a change of heart. He could let me leave at five as it's Sunday. I could probably convince him to let me take the manuscripts; turn them in the other day. Maybe I could leave at five, get a glass of red wine and then go on with the pains of working all the time.

I texted Josh

'Tyranny is making me work to my core.'

Despite his sometimes erratic behavior, I had developed a crush on Josh. He was everything I could ever dream of - witty, humorous, and elegant. Our first time as co-workers started on a cordial note as we were hired during the same time and had somewhat similar tastes, and then when I returned after a period of mayhem, wasn't he the sweetest?

I walked out straight for the CEO's cabin. I'd always thought of pasting a parchment with the word 'Tyranny' on the nameplate. Half of the office would thank me for that. But on second thought, I decided not to.

Knock knock.

"May I come in?" I said.

"Get in." He replied.

I entered to find Tyranny Turner sitting in his swivel chair, tapping the ends of his mahogany desk. He had his shirt unbuttoned at the collar with sleeves rolled up. If I didn't know him better, I could bet he was practicing for modeling at some agency, but then it was Tyranny Turner! He would either work for Devil or himself. He had enough money to retire at 35. Why would he even need to work as a model?