Page 17 of Wrong Car, Wright Guy
“You know,” I start, my mind dragging back to my work woes again. “It seems people either love him or hate him.”
“Tanner?”
“Yeah.” I move to the table and sit down, flicking through the folder. “And no matter how nasty the letter is, he insists every one of them gets a response.”
She presses her lips together as she sits across from me. “Does he check what you send?”
“No.”
“Then be an asshole in the response. That’s his platform, right? Say whatever you want, blow the consequences?”
A burst of laughter leaves my chest. “He doesn’t even have a platform. He just likes poking bears and watching them growl.”
“Then you should tell the gun-licking woman he’s into beastiality.” She giggles and I sit back, huffing out a sigh.
“You know, I don’t know how he lives with himself. All week, I’ve listened to him start arguments between people and he doesn’t even bat an eye. How can he be happy sitting in the middle of that?”
“I get it. I only listened to the first show that you were in. That was a good debate, and I’m not even being biased. I turned it off the next day when the callers were ranting at each other over respect for veterans. The stupid shit they were saying hurt my brain.”
I take a giant gulp of acidic wine as I nod. “This is seriously the worst job I’ve ever had. And I was an unpaid intern for a year.”
“Oh! You hated that.” She sips from her glass and winces. “What did you call yourself?”
“The coffee whore.”
“That’s right, because theyallwanted you when coffee was involved.”
“Plus, I smelled of stale coffee the whole time. Just like how hookers smell like old sex. It’s a wonder I can still drink the stuff.”
“Or have sex.” Tahlia laughs.
“Not that I’d have any time forthatanymore.”
“Well, at least you’re moving up in your career,” she says. “You could be like me and stuck writing puff pieces about the perfect winter boots instead of writing real stories with grit.”
“You know you’ll get your break, right? They can’t keep you writing for the accessories department forever,” I say, giving her hand a squeeze. “You’re too good to go unnoticed.”
“I hope so,” she sighs. “But whatever, it sounds like moving up has its own set of problems, anyway. You wanna splurge and order somehotpizza, then watch Netflix, or you need to vent some more?”
“Hot pizza, yes. But I need to vent because I feel stupid. I feel used and abused and I just hate it. I’m not made to be a shitkicker.” I gulp at my wine thirstily, hoping the alcohol will sooth my raging blood.
“What about the money? You said you got a raise. That part has to be good.”
“I don’t know that it’s worth it. As soon as I saw who it was, I knew this job would be a nightmare. Then I was stupid, because for a second while we were on air, I thought it might actually be fun. But when we cut to the news, he dismissed me without so much as a nod and sent me to work in the crap heap for the rest of the week. The list of things I have to complete daily is ludicrous. I’m working more than double hours for less than double pay, so the math doesn’t work out. If I’d wanted that, I would have taken on a second job. No. I’m going in on Monday and I’m going to demand my old job back.”
“What if they won’t give it to you?”
“Then I’ll quit. It’ll suck for the six months the non-compete clause is in effect. But if that’s what it takes, I’ll do it.”
“Surely there’s another way? What about paying to fix his car?”
I shrug. “He can sue me for it. I’d rather go bankrupt than spend another day as that arrogant asshole’s slave.”
“OK. Well, whatever you decide, I’m here for you. With cheap wine that tastes like vinegar.”
With a chuckle, I reach across the table and squeeze her hand. “Thanks, Tahl. That means a lot.”
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