Chapter 7: The Fight

I unlocked the door into his apartment one day and cringed. This was becoming a daily ritual. Every time I entered I would take a whiff of whatever product Rosalia used to clean his apartment. It smelled awful. It smelled like a pediatrician’s office. It was just that standard clean smell that makes you feel like no one cares about you but they’re going to pretend to.

He wasn’t there that day. Good. I hoped he wasn’t coming back. He recently hurt his back and he was hanging around the office a lot more. He couldn’t drive because he was constantly on Vicodin. It sucked. He couldn’t wear shoes because it hurt his back too much and he didn’t bother to brush his hair. He’s already unattractive to begin with, but this was just getting out of hand.

Luckily, today, he was not in. Thank God. I needed a day of work without doing work.

I sat down at the desk and began my usual morning routine of making the coffee, answering the trivia on IMDB, taking a nap, etc.

The phone rang. I answered it. It was boss-man. He curtly asked me to email some air-conditioning guy about some conference boss-man was holding next month.

We hung up. I emailed the guy then fell back asleep.

Two hours later, the phone rings again. It’s boss-man.

“Becky? I’m sorry if I sounded so short with you before. I got in a fight.”

“What?”

“I got in a fight.”

What the fuck?

Call me afraid of confrontation, but when I see a real-live fight that doesn’t involve Tolkien, Keanu Reeves, or being able to do martial arts in heels, I get disgusted. Real-live fights are the biggest turn-offs for me. I lose respect for anyone who cannot control their anger to the point where they need to touch another human being. That other human being did not ask to be touched. That other human being was not hired to be touched. What the fuck is your problem?

Here’s what happened:

Boss-man enjoys talking loudly on his cell-phone. He likes it when other people think he’s important. Fine. We all have small dicks every once in a while.

He’s talking on the phone in a Noah’s Bagels and doesn’t see that it is his turn in line to order. The man behind him taps him on the shoulder. However, this shoulder tap ignites that pain in his back.

Boss-man hangs up the phone, asks the shoulder-tapper “What the fuck is your problem?” and proceeds to push him. The other guy pushes back. A fight ensues. An employee ceases his shmearing to kick the two men out. Now, boss-man becomes another name in the long-list of angry Orthodox Jews who can no longer enter a Noah’s bagels.

And you thought the Bloods had it tough…

It’s at this point, I decide, I’m going to quit soon.

Chapter 6

Boss-man left an email lying on his kitchen table. As I was heating up some coffee, I read it and then typed it up and emailed it to myself. Here it is:



‘sup MAsterFLTR81-

its been sooooooo looooong since i last rote. im soooooooo sorry,, but things’ve been uber busy with classes. ugh 9th grade is hard!!!

aaron and I finaly broke up because he kept pressuring me 2 have a 3-way wit this grl Courtney. and im like fuckin’ no way. i told u be4 I didn’t mind him cheatin and shit- i always new he wuz but like…i couldnt do it NEmore.

idk. i met this ew guy corey who works at the bowlin’ alley. he treats mee good so idk wat will happen wit that but well see.

howz ur life? work? love life? sex life? NEthing kinky?

luvs,
kuteykitty118

Chapter 5

Here is a subsequent list of items that boss-man leaves lying around his apartment:

1.) A framed picture on a city street of him standing behind a woman who is bent over. Her arms are crossed over her chest hiding her cleavage. This picture is 8 by 11” and framed. I’m assuming he’s going to hang it on the wall next to the picture of his nephew from his bar-mitzvah. This inspired me to frame a photo that I was tagged in on Facebook where I was doing coke off of the dick of a male prostitute in Cabo. It is hanging on the wall next to a picture of my roommate's nephew's baptism.

2.) Boss-man asks me to organize his receipts. All of them are from his stay at various Holiday Inns in Southern California. All of them have “Adult Video” included in the subtotal. I therefore file them in business expenses.

3.) When boss-man is working at home, he chats on IM. I do, too, but with the computer on silent. However, boss-man seems to like the AIM jingles he customized. This is because every time he would send an IM the sound would be Fonzie saying “eeeyyy!” Every time he would receive an IM, it would be of a woman screaming. I have yet to decipher whether she was screaming out of ecstasy, or pain. Or even both. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was into snuff.

Chapter 4

I spent my days off vomiting and laughing. I imagined boss-man as a person who has actually had sex before and I would vomit. Then, I recall the fact that I found a raunchy IM conversation printed out and I would laugh.

Who prints out those conversations? Subsequently, who places them next to the tax forms that you plan on sending to the IRS?

I talked to a few friends, especially some friends who have worked as nannies or personal assistants before. Many of them that when you work out of someone’s home you may find personal things that you wish you didn’t find. Like it or not, people have personal lives with weird fetishes and you just need to pretend you didn’t find it. It’s just like losing your virginity or attending the Catholic Church: weird things happen, but you just got to deal with it and move on.

Someone told me once they knew a person who used to clean homes. He mentioned one day this person found a used mason jar of tampons underneath the sink.

Now, based on what I read of the chat it didn’t seem like he was talking to any underage or threatening anyone in anyway. Both parties seemed consenting on having such a discourse. Who am I to judge? The hours were good. I needed money. My new boss at the time at my other part-time job was embarking on his reign of dictatorship and taking responsibilities away from me. I needed the money and well… something to do.

Chapter 3

The boss-man went on a lot of sales calls. He was never there. He basically left me alone in his apartment, cold-calling a bunch of vitamin manufacturers to get sales leads.

I am going to confess something:

I never made a single call.

Well, I made a few and after a bunch of receptionists and operations managers hung up on me, I stopped caring. I didn’t give a shit about my job. I didn’t give a shit about getting 0.00002 percent commission if the boss-man did get a sale. This is because every time a receptionist or operations manager hung up on me, I felt like I was getting stabbed with a branding iron. It just hurts being rejected even in the smallest of situations especially when you are a highly sensitive person.

So, I stopped calling. The boss-man would come in occasionally I would pretend to do work like organize receipts or put one piece of paper in a folder and then switch it over to another folder. The second he would leave I would spend all day on youtube, perez Hilton, or do stuff for my other part time job.

One day he asked me to organize a bunch of stuff on his desk while he was trying to sell a heating coil to some plant that manufactures fake tits.

I was on the phone with my roommate Ashley, which usually took up a two-hour chunk of my workday, as I was piling receipts from different Holidays Inns in one pile and articles about celebrity-humidifiers in another pile.

Then I saw something very suspicious. It was an AIM chat that he had printed out.

Before I knew it, something pulled my eyes to some key words on the piece of paper:

Anal
Fisting
Hard

Oh my fucking God. Who is this creep? And why does he let me work hours that are so compatible to my schedule?

I IMed all of my friends and called Ashley. I told just about every I knew. It was the most stunned I’d been since I once saw two old dudes blowing each other in the Fens my junior year.

Chapter 2

I never thought of LA having a Jewish section because I always believed the entirety of LA was the Jewish section. Now, I know you may ask me about the Latino population, but let me inform you of this:

Chances are the Latinos sleep in the guesthouses of the Jewish section.

Needless to say, LA does have a Tel Aviv close to Beverly Hills. The neighborhood is filled with synagogues, Kosher stores and Kosher plastic surgeons. Yes, even though the Jewish population in LA believes that eating meat and dairy as unnatural, they will gladly buy their face from Rubbermaid.

This is where my future boss-man lived. He was, indeed, an Orthodox Jew, even though he would jokingly refer to himself as a feminine cleansing product. I suppose Moses called Aaron a pussy every once in a while and had me wonder why National Lampoon never made a movie about that.

I walked into his office and the first thing I noticed were the boss-man’s diplomas on the wall. However, not one of them was from an accredited university. On the bottom of one it said “Page 1 of 1 www.checkwriting101freeonlinetutorial.com.” Most of the other schools were two week-long seminars held in Econo Lodges.

His apartment smelled like my grandma’s or my pediatricians.