Worst Work Day

Time to write!

"Today her boss had gone too far" 

Nona had had it. Done. She was done. She could not tolerate another single day with Mr. MikMik. That was his real name. Mr. MikMik was Nona's boss, and she detested the man stupendously. This was not the kind of detestation that stories are written about, oh no. Mike MikMik was no Mr. Darcy, lurking under the cloak of hatred, just to throw it off and reveal true love at the end of the novel. That was too cliche, and besides, Mr. MikMik was not handsome nor British, so why bother comparing the two?

There really wasn't anything about Mr. MikMik that Nona found worthy of appreciation. He was loud and controlling. No matter what any of the employees did it never seemed to be enough. His mustache was always uneven, and his comb over never created the illusion he intended it to. Truly, there was nothing admirable about the man. Even the way he chewed gum was easy to dislike, chomping and slurping and glaring at the world, daring one of his employees to comment on the sound and the display.

Each day, going into work, Nona had to take a deep breath and remind herself that she needed this job to keep paying for Wigwam's food. Wigwam was Nona's pet giraffe. He lived in the backyard of her apartment complex on 25th street, just across from Mr. Lloyd's deli. Wigwam was a costly fellow, but Nona loved him, so she chose to keep him on and sacrifice in order to keep him around. Nona was just that kind of friend.

But today, Mr. MikMik did something which made Nona test the limits of her love for Wigwam. Mr. MikMik crossed a line, stepping neatly across the boundary between "I'm mad, but I can deal with that" and "I might just kill you with the nearest object. A stapler will do nicely".

You see, if there was one worldly possession Nona loved in all the world it was her teddy bear, which is why she kept it home where she was sure it'd be safe. However, her planner was also very important to her. It had all her plans in it. Notes, lists, agendas, musings, and so on and so forth were also listed in the pages of the little bound book. That morning Mr. MikMik had spilled an entire cup of coffee on Nona's planner. Then yelled at her for the incident. And told her that his next cup of coffee was coming out of her paycheck. And then he'd ordered her to take "that sopping mess" and place it in the trashcan. Nona stood there, torn, fuming, and reluctant to throw her planner in the rubbish receptacle. It just wasn't fair.

Nona, Nona. Calm down sugar plum. (Calling herself pet names sometimes worked to help Nona relieve herself of anxiety. Today it didn't seem to do the trick.) Nona felt her hands clenching into fists.

Nona. Think of Wigwam. Think of Wigwam and that face he gets everytime he eats a whole barrel of special Giraffe Gourmet Goulash and the dance he never fails to complete afterward. Think of the way two of his legs fly into the air while the other two seemingly pirouette in a spiral reminiscent of a polar bear ascending into a tree. Think of that. 

But even these images did nothing to calm Nona. Such was her anger, such was her fury.

"No." she said.

The look on Mr. MikMik's face rendered him even more unattractive than was customary.

um. I am disturbed at myself for writing this.