Every time I pass, he calls me in just to see if I’m going to take him to HR for sexual harassment this time.
To tell the truth, I would—the man’s a degenerate—if I didn’t know he was just trying to get fired so he could cash in his ridiculously bloated severance package. This may be the only situation in which I’m willing to put up with his crap.
I pass the office, but am immediately beckoned back.
Unfortunately, Mr. Kidman is one of my many, many bosses. If he wasn’t, I’d just keep walking and let him use someone else for his little game.
“Miss Tyler,” he says as I poke my head into his office. “You look absolutely fuckable today.”
“Did you want something, or are you just trying to make me think you have a less embarrassing package than you actually do?” I ask.
It helps that I can give as good as I get.
“You know I love it fiery,” he smirks. “Why don’t you waddle that juicy ass over here and pick up this file? It needs to go to Atkinson, so don’t suck any dicks on your way to his office. This needs to go out today.”
Okay, maybe I can give as good as I can get, but this jerk is so far past the line, I almost don’t care that one complaint from me and he’d get rewarded with a check larger than what I’ll make in my lifetime. It’s almost worth it just to have the man out of my life.
This is really a horrible position to be in.
I walk over to his desk and take the file.
“Now, why don’t you give me a little kiss,” he says.
“Try it and you’re going to find the business end of my high heel embedded in your left grape.”
He just laughs, and I am so sick of it.
I don’t know if he actually thinks I’m enjoying this or what, but I do know that things only got worse when I told him to stop.
My only consolation is that my silence is causing him pain.
“One more thing,” he says as I’m almost out the door.
“What?” I ask; any tolerance I had left now gone completely.
“Would you mind walking out again, only this time with your skirt pulled up above that bubble butt of yours?”
Leila, don’t hit senior citizens. It’s not worth it. You’ll be the one to end up in jail.
Oh, but it would be so worth it.
“Screw you.”
As I exit the office, fully intending to just give up and get the prick fired, I glance back: he’s smiling and pumping his arm in celebration. Getting him fired is what he wants, but I can’t deal with his crap much longer before I come in here and become the latest office shooting statistic.
And I’m really a very calm, nice person.
I get the file to Atkinson’s office. Luckily for me, he’s always been respectful.
The problem with Atkinson is that he always has a couple dozen things for me to do, and I’m not sure he realizes that I’m still an intern.
It’s not like I haven’t told him a few dozen times.
He tries to get me to make a call to the SEC and go over my monthly numbers as some part of our firm’s latest investigation that I still don’t quite understand, but I have no personal numbers to go over. To make the conversation go more quickly, I just tell him that it’s already taken care of.
He smiles, and I only end up getting coffee for him and half the floor, emptying his wastebasket, calling his wife to tell her that he won’t be home until after midnight because he’s slammed with work and then call his favorite drinking buddy to tell him that they’re still on for 6 o’clock, water his plants, place his picture of the Great Wall in a more feng shui-friendly position, explain to him yet again that I don’t know anything about money laundering, but reassure him that I’ll look into it, tell him which tie is most appropriate for a trip to a sports bar, and organize his stack of subpoenas by date of appearance.
This is my job.