Part 6
Yeah, okay, I lied. Sue me. (Don’t sue me, I have nothing of value to my name). Payday can’t come fast enough, I swear.
I’m not writing about The Hurricane, though. So it’s not really so bad. And I need to vent. I need it more than I need salty, starchy chips when I’m starting my cycle. Today was the worst work day I’ve had in the past two years. I got insulted, talked down to, and demeaned. And I snapped.
I quit my job. I doubt I’ll be getting a final pay check, after I called my boss a slave driving pervert. I’m just praying that payroll ran this morning like it was meant to. If they delayed it, I’m screwed. We have bills to pay and my measly salary could never stretch well enough for me to save more than a couple bucks. I couldn’t even pay my phone bill with what’s stashed away.
True to form, my sister immediately lost her marbles when she saw me carrying the contents of my desk in a spare printing paper box and demanded to know what I’d done to ruin things this time. Well… she didn’t say ruin.
I was already, as any rational person would understand, feeling a little fragile about the whole thing and I may have hit back and called her a soulless robot. Well… I called her something else after robot.
Long story short: my life’s a shambles and my throat hurts from screaming. Oh, and we’re out of everything potato-based.
I hate this so much. I wanted to be sketching ballgowns, not listening to gross little men talk about their balls.
Anyway… I don’t really have anyone to talk to. None of the people I know have the slightest idea that I work because I have to. They think I’m bored and that there’s an attractive guy I’m trying to hook at work.
They believe that, because it’s what I told them and because none of them could ever comprehend the idea of one of our own being in need of anything. Like I said – I didn’t grow up rich. But I had everything I wanted. We all did. Our families took care of us.
Theirs still takes care of them. But S and I… we’ve been on our own for a while now. And while we could get help if we asked for it, S refuses and it’s one of the few things I’ve never challenged her on. She’s not dumb, my sister. If she’s not getting help there, it’s because that help’s not worth the strings attached to it.
Anyway… all that means that from tomorrow morning, I’ll be living on The Hurricane’s charity. And being reminded of it constantly. Lovely.
If it wouldn’t be a waste of money – and chips, I’d empty my stomach on this pretty grey carpet right now. I feel ill enough that it’s a struggle not to.
I’m going to sleep. Maybe when I wake up, I’ll have an epiphany or a leprechaun will pop into my room and dump a pot of gold on my head.
Or maybe I just won’t wake up at all.
–
You’ll be glad to know I’m not as maudlin today. My salary coming in had just about everything to do with that. I’m still riding the high of relief, mingled with just a little spite – I shouldn’t have gotten quite so large a check as I did since I didn’t work off a notice period.
A high so – heh – high, in fact, that The Hurricane, who’s turned into a Cat 5 complete with excessive thunder, can’t make me mad. Not today.
No matter what.
No matter…
Rats. I’m mad again.
I have been unemployed for fourteen hours. How on Earth would I have a new job lined up already? What world does she live in, Idiot Land?
Yeah, I know, weak joke. But she’s driven me so insane, I can’t even be witty anymore.
Now she’s calling in some favour, making a big production about it too.
Wait.
Wait, what? She found me a job?
I can’t believe it!
It’s as a GOPHER?
I can’t believe it. She cannot be serious? A glorified maid? Not in a million years! We used to have maids, I’m not gonna become one.
Excuse me, I have hair to pull and declarations to yell.
–
I’m a maid. Yippee.
I start tomorrow and I’m working even longer hours than I did before. I’d go beg for my old job back, but they’d never give it to me. Worse, The Hurricane would never let me hear the end of it for all the trouble I caused her. She’s already started. All day today after she got home, she walked in and out of my room to lecture.
Don’t embarrass me, don’t slack off, don’t ever raise your voice, and talk like a lady. If you can’t remember what that is, I’ll teach you.
When I murder her, no judge will convict me. I’m sure of it.
To top it all off, there’s still nothing edible in the house except S’s kale. It tastes like soap.
I’d rather starve.
And before you all start judging me again, you’ve gotta realise… I can do a lot of things. I can do mind-numbing admin work. I can fake-smile until my jaw aches. I can host and I can shop and I’m good at styling people.
I cannot be at someone else’s beck and call all day. It makes me think violent thoughts. So really, it’s for everyone else’s safety if I don’t do this job.
Not buying it? Yeah, my sister didn’t either. She just told me to suck it up and learn to live with it.
Easy for her to say. She has an assistant. And no boss. She’s living the freaking dream.
And I’m about to get into my worst nightmare – one I didn’t even know terrified me until now. God, somebody save me.
The Imperfect Muslimah 