Gillian’s Very Bad Day
Tuesday had dissolved into a giant cluster. Gillian stared at the blank screen in front of her knowing that whatever she typed, whatever modicum of hope she extended to her client’s millions of followers would be bullshit. Gillian wasn’t usually so pessimistic when it came to her work, but today everything had gone to hell faster than “Thrice Divorced Jan” from across the street could guzzle a bottle of Chardonnay.
You see, Gillian hadn’t been expecting a call at 8:27 am that morning. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves… As far as Tuesday’s go, it started unremarkably. Gillian’s boyfriend, Joel, had left early for work. Departing their historic craftsman located in the heart of their Candler Park neighborhood at precisely 7:15 am. Gillian had abandoned the comfort of her 1000 thread count sheets at 7:41 am. She’d changed from her sleeping pajamas to her working pajamas and walked downstairs to make her usual breakfast. Black coffee and plain oatmeal which she preferred to eat in silence.
By 8:05 am, Gillian had logged into her work email and begun to separate the dumb questions from the dumber questions. By 8:22 am, she had already put out 3 small fires, sent 42 texts, and successfully avoided 2 meetings that should’ve been emails. She felt triumphant, but when the foreign sound of her phone ringing filled the office, her chest tightened in response.
No one ever called Gillian. Not Joel. Or her best friend, Daphne. Or her mom. Or her twin brother, Jay. In the random event the shrill ring tone sounded on her 1,600 dollar email box, her first and only assumption was that someone must be dead. So when her phone rang at 8:27 am, she’d gasped and thrown it from her hand as if it were a broccoli cheddar Hot Pocket straight from the microwave. After she acknowledged it was just a ringing phone and not an overheated microwave pastry, Gillian sat back shocked. She was surprised to see the name of Joel’s assistant, Madilyn, on her screen. Madilyn spelled M-A-D- I-L-Y-N. Madilyn was twenty-two and very—bouncy. Her dark hair. Her d-cups. So bouncy. It’s important to mention that all of Madilyn’s text messages used no less than a dozen exclamation points and she constantly misspelled their/there/they’re. Gillian shuddered. Despite the uncomfortable turn in her stomach, she slid a plainlymanicured finger across the screen.
Of all the morbid and catastrophic things she expected to hear, Gillian had definitely not been expecting the vigorous sounds of lovemaking taking place on the other end of the line. Furthermore, she absolutely hadn’t expected to hear the unmistakable sound of her boyfriend’s grand finale. Joel’s distinctive climax grunt echoed out of her speaker and up through the air, the sound would haunt her memories for years to come. Pun absolutely intended.
So now, at 3:15 PM Gillian stared at her screen. The twitch in her eye made it impossible to concentrate on the work ofselling love to the social media lemmings always in search of more and better. She’d never hated her job more. Rain started plinking against the magnificently restored original windows and Gillian grinned. She grinned because at approximately 8:47 am she had removed the entire contents of Joel’s closet and dumped them onto the front lawn.
Gillian’s heart held steady at 175 beats per minute. Deep breathing and shitty meditation apps were worthless to slow it. The anger inside her came in waves. White hot, ebbing to a simmer, then crashing back to scorched earth. Every time her fingers brushed the keys, she thought of Joel and his bouncy secretary. She had wasted 2 years, 6 months, 3 weeks, and 4 days of her life with Joel. 2 years, 6 months, 3 weeks, and 4 days with a man who took his jeans to the dry cleaner. That should’ve been the first sign.
Gillian sighed, opening her scheduling software where she stared at the client’s newest campaign photos. The resort had sent images of laughing couples frolicking in the hot tub, at the swim-up bar, at the beach, they frolicked every damn where… It made her sick. She selected a photo of a beautiful mixed-race couple smiling in their fluffy white robes, cuddled on their king-sized bed. {add a beat} With fast fingers, she typed out a caption. Satisfied, Gillian hit publish.
At exactly 3:47 pm, The Deux Resort and Spa sent the following post to their 3.2 million followers across all social media channels:
It’s all fun and games until you find out he’s banging his illiterate, 22-year-old secretary. Also, the resort had an outbreak of bed bugs last November. Happy Valentine’s Day, Motherfuckers!
5 minutes later, Gillian was fired.
