Mafia Marionette

Door Closing

There is dirt under my nails.

I sit tucked into the corner seat of the train and glare at my dirty fingernails. Why is there dirt under my nails? I'm a very clean person, thank you very much. I shower almost daily. Mostly. Occasionally. Okay, I shower when I need to and never before have I been told that I stink or that I need a shower so really I am a very clean person.  

And I always wash my hands before eating and after using the washroom. 

For the last twenty minutes of my commute across town, I've been trying to rid the dirt from under my nails to no avail. Finally, I give up and exhale a loud huff. So loud that the woman seated across from me startles and gives me a dirty look.

"What?" I snarl at the woman. The woman narrows her eyes, tightening her coat around her. She stands up quickly, holding her purse pressed against her side. As though I would actually try to take it from her. 

"I don't want your bloody purse, you know," I call after the woman as she scuttles down the aisle away from me. "And even if I did," I continue to shout, "I don't think clutching it to your hip is really going to stop me from getting it!" 

The woman gasps before hurriedly leaving the train car. The other occupants mostly ignore my outburst, but a few boldly stare back at me. Testing me. And my patience.

This is my life now. Yelling at strangers on the subway. Lovely. 

Though, not my fault really. If it were up to me, I wouldn't even be in this situation. I mean, seriously. I hate people. I hate them all. I'm a very angry person and if you're looking at me thinking I have a secret sweet side, you're delusional. I'm not some Sour Patch Kid, okay? 

But the time had come for me to finally get a job. I've had jobs before, sure, but since my current roommate has kicked me out for what I suspect may actually be the last time, then I really have no choice but to get a better job than the weekly bartending gig I have at O'Flannery's. 

I'm an adventurer, you see. Or I'd like to be. Really, I just roam around until I bump into someone that I find interesting and then I latch onto that person until they can't stand me and sometimes issue a restraining order. Oh, did I mention I'm a psychopath? Because while I'm not sure, every day more signs lead to the certifiably insane category. I'm sure the woman I just scared off would agree with that statement. 

But I mean, why worry about that now? Right now, I am single-minded. I am focused. I am ready to nail this mother-fucking job interview if it's the only good thing that comes out of today. I'm confident this time. Those other jobs I applied for, they weren't for me. They were boring jobs like data entry, or folding clothes, or stocking shelves. I mean, apparently I wasn't 'qualified' or 'didn't have the right attitude.' Just bullshit anyways.

I have a great attitude. People just ruin it. 

Finally, the train stops at my destination. So I grab my bag and glare at the other passengers still occasionally giving me looks like I'm two seconds from revealing a bomb strapped to my chest. Over dramatic imbeciles. Instead of another outburst though, I exit the train with my head held high. 

"That's it, Maddison," I say to myself aloud, garnering more worried looks from people walking alongside me. I ignore them. I'm in pep talk mode. "One foot in front of the other. Head held high. Walk in like you own the place, cause hey, who knows? Maybe someday you will." I snort at myself. 

See, this job interview I'm going for is different than the rest. All the other jobs I applied using my abysmal work experience on my resume, but not this time. I may have ... embellished a little. Because, hey, desperate times call for desperate measures. And I need a job right now.