I’ve recently been working on a comedy piece about a really awkward personal assistance who gets her dream job. It’s been quite a departure from the normally dark subject matter I seem to tackle. I know, what does that say, eh? Anyways. This is separate from Collins, here is a little snippet of my character suffering first day jitters. Enjoy! Also, keep your eyes peeled for more of this to come!
By eight-thirty I think I’ve had six mini heart attacks. First was when I woke up 6 hours before my alarm scared that I wouldn’t hear the blasphemous thing and miss my first day on the job.
The second…when I did that again three hours later.
The third…yeah, ten minutes before my alarm was actually due to go off. I decided just to get up at that point.
The next came when I couldn’t decide what to wear. I knew a skirt would not work, then I’d have to wear nylons and I wasn’t going to face that kind of disaster again. I settled for dark grey dress pants with a slouchy royal purple camisole and a grey cardigan. I think I look alright, just not me. But…me is not what I’m going for here. Not after the last time I met him. Or…the time I talked to him on the phone. No, I have to be Elizabeth PA extradonaire. I have to kill this job because he really is taking a huge chance by hiring me after that disaster of an interview.
The fifty heart attack came when I couldn’t find my car keys. Or cell phone. Or my left show to my favorite pair of black kitten heels. My only work appropriate shoes. The keys happened to be in my purse, where I left them. The cellphone in the living room…but the shoe? Yeah. No where to be found. I ended up having to wear my six inch stripper heels I wore once to a club and regretted it for two days after as the blisters healed. But I had no choice. I couldn’t wear my chucks or my skate shoes.
Keep your eyes open for the reason for her sixth heart attack that morning!