I turned the ringer of my phone off and put it face-down on the coffee table.
Trashy television was looking more and more appealing. I picked up the remote and tuned out, pretending that my mother wasn't sending me irritated text messages about my failings as a daughter.
I could always read those tomorrow.
Monday morning, I walked into work before anyone else and started in on the never-ending paperwork that plagued my job.
"Are you kidding me?" Sarah asked, when she got into work. "How long have you been here?"
I blinked and stretched, checking the time on my computer. Sarah was standing in the doorway of my little office and staring at me.
"Uh... two and a half hours?"
"Come on, that's ridiculous. No one should be in this office at six-thirty on a Monday. A Monday! What is wrong with you, Naomi?" she asked.
I shrugged.
"It's peaceful," I said. "No one comes to add more work. I can feel like I'm really accomplishing something. It makes me happy."
"Well, I'm glad you're happy, girlfriend," she said, "But you need to take a deep breath. You're not getting any overtime for this."
"Yeah, Herman's not the overtime type," I said. Our boss had made it very clear that any overtime pay would be at his discretion, and he had no intention of opening the purse so much as an inch. To be fair, he didn't expect you to stay late or come early, but if you wanted to go the extra mile, it was on your time and your dime.
She rolled her eyes.
"Herman's not the anything type," she said. "The esteemed Mister Banks isn't going to do you any favors. Don't grow old waiting for them."
"What do you mean?" I asked, sitting up straighter.
She looked a little guilty, and her eyes darted into the hallway. Quickly, she stepped into my office and shut the door.
"Look," she said, "No one wants to admit it, but this is an old boy's club. It's where ranching and government meet, and in Texas, those are men's jobs. It's getting better, but you're not going to change the way the world works, no matter how hard you work."
I scowled. Sarah was sounding too much like my mother.
"Are you saying I shouldn't do a good job?" I asked.
"Of course not," she said. "I do a good job, you do a good job, and we need to keep doing our good jobs. I just don't want you to get your hopes up. Ferguson is going to get promoted long before you will."
"He's been here a month," I said, incredulously. "I've been here more than a year. And... and... he's incompetent!"
She nodded.
"He couldn't find his ass with both hands, but he is a man, and his father golfs with Herman Banks," she said. She let out a long sigh and looked around my cramped office.
"I probably shouldn't tell you any of this," she said. "I just don't want you to get blindsided when the promotions are announced."
"It's a done deal, then?" I asked.
"Pretty much," she said.
I sighed gustily.
"That's ridiculous," I said. I blinked back tears. It was unprofessional, and I normally kept a better grip on myself, but Sarah was a good friend by now, and I didn’t bother to hide how upset I was like I normally would at work.
I had been hoping for that promotion for months.
"I know," she said. “It’s a sucky world sometimes.”