|sage only has room for (ardency) wrote in repose,|
@ 2019-10-04 03:23:00
She hadn’t gone to beg for her job back, exactly. Okay, yes, she needed a job that didn’t involve anything overtly illegal. And okay, yes, she had basically zero marketable skills. And she hadn’t ever written a resume but she had a pretty good idea that ‘chronic relapser’ wasn’t the way that one wanted to stand out from the pile. So, okay. She’d been ripping tickets at the theatre for like, maybe, three-four months before she got shipped off this time. And okay, so the GM was a total perv to the girls he hired, but that meant he was okay with leeway when she just told him that she had mono.
So, technically, what she’d done was gone back to BS her way through why she didn’t have or need a doctor’s note. It involved a lot of SAT words that she knew Perv Stache didn’t understand but would def pretend he did, things like ‘amnesty’ and ‘retention’ and a lot of vigorous hand gestures so that the sleeves of her faded red hoodie slid down her arms. It was pretty easy, actually. Less than five minutes of talking at him while trying not to stare at the mole on his nose that kinda looked like a face that might stare back at her if she’d been high. Which she wasn’t, yet. Tragic, yes. But yeah, okay, less than five and he’d said yes, she could have her job back as long as she didn’t need to take anymore sick days until the Halloween horror fest was over, because he needed all the bodies he could get. (Man, was that a shit choice of phrasing she couldn’t complain about.)
But okay. Things were looking up, sorta, when she slipped back out the front of the theatre and zipped her hoodie halfway up to her throat against the night’s chill. She could go back to taking tickets and sneaking toots from the little blue dime bags on too many bathroom breaks, once she got in touch with her hookups again. So, okay, speaking of - Sage pulled her phone out of her pocket and swiped it open, before she remembered that her mom had made the counsellors hand it over on Sage’s intake so that she could have it factory reset and wipe her contacts from the Cloud, too.
“Bitch,” she hissed, tilting her head back so that her hood slipped off and thick, dark curls spilled out around her shoulders. Eyes closed, one hand with fingers clenched around her phone and the other twisted in her sleeve, she stood there on the sidewalk with rage pulsing in her throat like a heartbeat and the cold, familiar twist of anxiety starting to coil around her solar plexus.