Two days and I want to quit…

Okay, so as much as I wanted to fuck my boss (not literally) and his uncompassionate ways, I didn’t. After all, I didn’t want to call my Midwest family back, two days into the job, to say I had already quit. I didn’t want to be a quitter. So I followed Dean into the house, he went back to bed, I went into the home office.

Now, Dean had told me there were two desks in there, one for me, one for his wife (Chloe). His office, on the other hand, was many, many hallways away. Kind of nice, when you think about it. I walk in… and can’t see the desks. Papers and craft supplies are all over both desks, making it look like an art store had had a flood. WTF? I try to figure out which computer is Chloe’s and which is mine. Finally, I guess mine’s the one without the screensaver of Dean on it.

I decide to clear away the surrounding area, trying to categorize everything properly – keeping the pink pipecleaners separated from the fingerpaints (what could they possibly be making, I wonder). I surreptitiously put everything on Chloe’s desk. I also set my cell phone alarm, so I can wake Dean up in an hour. Man, this blows. I sit at the desk for about five minutes. After not being able to get an internet connection and figuring it’s too early to text people (I don’t want to wake them the way I was awakened), I decide to lie down on the couch… after all, it is only a bit after 7 a.m. at this point. I reset my cell phone alarm for fifty minutes, instead (so I can wake up a bit before I have to wake up Dean), and close my eyes…

What seems like a few minutes later, I feel my eyelids being pried open. I look up to see Spring and Summer hovering over me, giggling. I have never hated six and eight-year-old girls so much as I did now. Remind me to never have kids.

“Why are you sleeping at work?” Spring’s chipper six-year-old voice says. “Yeah,” Summer pipes in. “Does my Dad know?” Uh. The good ol’ “Does my Dad know?” threat. Again, did I tell you how much I hate these kids…? I don’t care how cute they are in their blonde pigtails.

“I wasn’t sleeping,” I mutter while rubbing my eyes awake. “Were, too,” Spring says. She’s awfully bitchy for someone who has such a pretty name, I think to myself. Then again, lots of girls with pretty names are bitchy, like “Amber”s, “Heather”s, “Tiffany”s… But that’s not the point right now. “I just closed my eyes for a second,” I tell them as I sit up. But it’s too late – they run out, chanting in their little sing-songy voices, “We’re telling Daddy, we’re telling Daddy!”

I knew I should have just gone home…