“Hey boss,” I said in something between a mumble and a whisper.
“Sit down,” he said.
Fuck. How do I always end up on this side of the conversation. I’m never in the power position. Why do I even bother working hard for this guy. I always end up fucking something up and sitting in this chair.
He’s finishing up a letter he’s dictating into a tape recorder. Something about a motion to blah, blah, blah. It’s always the same here in this office. I hate this job. I thought I would be inspired by working here. I thought it would lead me to want more from the legal trade. I took night classes for a paralegal certificate to spark my interest. I did fall in love with the discussion of laws and the passion of debate. I’m just not good with follow up. Give me a week to work on a file and I will try to complete the work in the last 4 hours of the last day.
“Here,” he said and handed me an envelope, “you have potential but you will never develop it here.”
If it’s what I think it is, it’s my last check. I only worked half a week or less so it can’t be more than $200. The first thing that came to my head was the phone bill and how stupid I was for spending my last bit of cash on beer.
“I still want to work here boss, I hope it’s not my last check.”
“It is your last check. I don’t want you here no more. You’re smart but you’re lazy and you’re always late. You live six blocks away cabron y no puedes llegar a tiempo.”
He’s right there. I live just up the hill and I never get here on time. 15 to 30 minutes late every day. I hate mornings. I can’t even argue.
“Look,” he looks right at me, “you have a mind of a dreamer. I know you don’t even like this job. The only thing keeping you here is Maria, Mari, whatever you call her.”
Her name is Mariana and fuck him. He’s right.
I wondered if I had blank disks to remove some personal files from the computer.
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