I was sitting in my room, staring at a half-eaten tube of chapstick, when the phone rang. I eyeballed it, looking at it with distrust. Hello? I whispered, my heart thumping wildly.
"Uh, Mr. Zorkins, this is Sheba in Records? I thought you'd want to know you left your pantsuit down her earlier? The gold one? Um, I found it.. but, uhh.. I thought you might have misplaced it." Thank you Sheba, but no, I don't need it. "Ok, it's just that I thought.." Sheba, did you notice that the pantsuit is riddled with cigarette burns? Or that the crotch area is now a jagged gaping hole? No, Sheba, please. Just throw it away. I don't want to see it again. I... can't see it again. "...ok...um..." That will be all, Sheba. Goodnight.
I swear to god, that fucking Sheba. You'd think she'd get the hint, every national holiday giving me a new pantsuit. But no! I tried to be nice about it, not saying anything to her just leaving it on her desk, and she has to go and make an
issue about it. Fucking freak.