Keys and Margaritas

This was absolutely the last time I will lock my keys in my car.

That is what I was telling myself, as I tried to break into my car for the third time that month.

It was the perfect end to a terrible day.

That morning, I started a new job.

On the way there, I spilled coffee down the front of my white shirt.

Thankfully, I found a sweater in my backseat that covered most of the spill. Unfortunately, it was the middle of August and 96 degrees, which meant that sweater had probably been on my floorboard for a very long time.

My new boss didn't seem too excited to see me when I walked in....possibly because I was two minutes late, and wearing a crumpled sweater.

By ten o'clock, I had done something to the copy machine that caused it to lock up and become unusable for the rest of the day.

Lunch in the break-room sent me spiraling back into middle school, when all the cool girls sat together and I sat....somewhere else.  I grabbed a candy bar and ate it at my desk.

My new boss stopped by and told me the file I had spent all morning working on was wrong, and I needed to start over and redo the entire thing.

In the afternoon I met Keith, who was really cute.

I made a great impression by getting all tongue-tied, tripping over a wastebasket, and falling on him.

Jessica, the snooty girl whose cubicle I was sharing, leaned over and told me that I should probably go ahead and quit, because our boss already told her that she didn't like me, and she was pretty sure that no one else did either.

And now here I am. Locked out of my car, standing in the parking lot while Jessica walks by with three friends, laughing at me.

Clearly getting out of bed today had been a bad idea, as had the job.

I should go ahead and quit when I go back inside to call a locksmith.

"Need some help?"

I look up, and see Keith standing beside me, with a hint of a smile on his face.

"Are you any good at breaking into cars?"

"Possibly. How do you feel about Mexican food? A job like that could make a guy pretty hungry, and you look like you could use a margarita."

I think I'll give this job another try, tomorrow couldn't possibly be so bad.

And as for Jessica's declaration that nobody liked me? Maybe she was wrong.

This fiction is in response to the prompt from The Red Dress Club:

Write a short piece - 600 words max - that begins with the words, "This was absolutely the last time" and ends with "She was wrong."


Comments and Constructive Criticism are always appreciated. 

Tweet