Log Thirty-six: JOBLESS

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THIRTY-SIX
JOBLESS

Tuesday

11:50 am

Dear, Diary

The four years of my lack of productivity are nothing compared to the last 2 hours of my life.

This sad-looking receptionist has blatantly refused to share the company's Wifi nor a second of her attention with me.

"Shebi you're the Boss's PeeHay, ask him now," she responded coldly before focusing her attention back on the desktop in front of her and I couldn't help but wonder what exactly she was doing there—I mean, what did receptionists at advertising firms busy themselves with exactly?

Oh! I've also completed the unending phone calls—skipped a page—maybe two—maybe 12—or 30, but anyway sha, I'm done and all Glory belongs to God.

"I'm going to get a drink, you want anything?"

"No," No thank you or something—not even a smile, this girl hates me and I'll get to the root of the hatred—or am I just bored and jobless? because the normal me wouldn't be bothered about a scrawny-looking-loveless-brimming-unattractive secretary with teeth that were fighting for space in her sold-out arena excuse of a mouth.

"No wahala." I smiled and stood up and all the idiot could mutter was, "Close the door very well," not even something as mundane as "Don't be long." Stupid nanny goat—it's me and her in this company—okay, I'm clearly bored and out of my senses. I need something cold and sweet like Coca-Cola.

Be right back
The jobless Shaniqua

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