How the World Wronged Michael Holt
With a few small linking books under my arm, I proceeded to work much the same as any other day. After clocking in, I monotonously made my way to the front stockroom. It's a small room, probably about half the size of a decent master bedroom, mostly composed of shelving and assorted small products. It is here where I would be in exile for the next nine hours or so before I plod home as usual with my only-marginally-above-minimum wage in hand.
The stockroom door has had a nasty habit of locking itself lately, so I've taken the liberty of taping over the latching mechanism to aid in my egress therefrom. I hid the linking books in an out-of-the-way place before I walked over to the barely-tuned-in, staticky radio to tune it to my favorite station... Q94. Honestly, I don't know why I listen anymore. They play probably two songs I love, and while I can tolerate most of the rest, I absolutely despise the remainder of them. Maybe it's just because I grew up with them, maybe it's because they occasionally let slip a new song that I actually enjoy (Thanks for Paralyzer, btw, Q-team.), or maybe I'm just hoping Sid will strangle Melissa with a cord or something on the air during the "man segment" that she gets far too mad at him for when it's actually... get this... manly. But I digress.
I make my way slowly toward the back of the stockroom, scanning in an armload of small products to the appropriately labelled shelving. My thoughts wander to the new "girl"... I saw her briefly when I was clocking in. She looks so much like Carmen Electra that I have to wonder just what the fuck she's doing working here! I recall catching her eye, focused on the linking books I set down while I slipped on my leather work gloves. When she saw me notice her looking, she simply gave me a lusty gaze and a quick smile before heading off to her place in that top that was just a little too tight (but about which no one was complaining). Then again, it all could've been my imagination. I do tend to read too much into the merest of glances sometimes.
Lost in these thoughts to the point of distraction, I didn't notice when she entered the front of the stockroom, removing the tape from the door and gently pressing it into place so that it latched... locked. (That would keep out all but two people in the whole store... only one of which ever bothered checking on me.)
I regained my focus as I saw her slinking sexily down the aisle toward me. My mouth involuntarily gaped open, but I quickly recovered my senses. She was the first to speak.
"Hi, Michael," the words dripped like honey from her lips, as her eyes were intensely focused on mine.
"Um, hi, Carmen." (I'd begun calling her Carmen only a few days after she started, as a joke. I think she liked it.)
Heaving her ample bosom, she breathed, "So what are you doing back here this morning?" Her gaze was viciously attached to mine. The thought of the linking books occurred to me...
Yeah... what am I doing back here this morning?
The stockroom door has had a nasty habit of locking itself lately, so I've taken the liberty of taping over the latching mechanism to aid in my egress therefrom. I hid the linking books in an out-of-the-way place before I walked over to the barely-tuned-in, staticky radio to tune it to my favorite station... Q94. Honestly, I don't know why I listen anymore. They play probably two songs I love, and while I can tolerate most of the rest, I absolutely despise the remainder of them. Maybe it's just because I grew up with them, maybe it's because they occasionally let slip a new song that I actually enjoy (Thanks for Paralyzer, btw, Q-team.), or maybe I'm just hoping Sid will strangle Melissa with a cord or something on the air during the "man segment" that she gets far too mad at him for when it's actually... get this... manly. But I digress.
I make my way slowly toward the back of the stockroom, scanning in an armload of small products to the appropriately labelled shelving. My thoughts wander to the new "girl"... I saw her briefly when I was clocking in. She looks so much like Carmen Electra that I have to wonder just what the fuck she's doing working here! I recall catching her eye, focused on the linking books I set down while I slipped on my leather work gloves. When she saw me notice her looking, she simply gave me a lusty gaze and a quick smile before heading off to her place in that top that was just a little too tight (but about which no one was complaining). Then again, it all could've been my imagination. I do tend to read too much into the merest of glances sometimes.
Lost in these thoughts to the point of distraction, I didn't notice when she entered the front of the stockroom, removing the tape from the door and gently pressing it into place so that it latched... locked. (That would keep out all but two people in the whole store... only one of which ever bothered checking on me.)
I regained my focus as I saw her slinking sexily down the aisle toward me. My mouth involuntarily gaped open, but I quickly recovered my senses. She was the first to speak.
"Hi, Michael," the words dripped like honey from her lips, as her eyes were intensely focused on mine.
"Um, hi, Carmen." (I'd begun calling her Carmen only a few days after she started, as a joke. I think she liked it.)
Heaving her ample bosom, she breathed, "So what are you doing back here this morning?" Her gaze was viciously attached to mine. The thought of the linking books occurred to me...
Yeah... what am I doing back here this morning?
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