A/N: The characters/situations/lyrics do not belong to me. I rent. The song is "Radio" by Goldfinger. I strongly recommend listening while reading to get the vibe. It's short, but there's more… it really should be a Oneshot, but I'm impatient. OK. I believe that's all the nonsense I've got to blabber about for right now… Review.
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Its 9 O'Clock, she's late for work
She hates her job; her boss is a jerk
Today was not her day. Last night she'd barely slept, which wasn't unusual for her but she really needed it. She hadn't slept in a week. What little sleep she did get was interrupted by nightmares. She woke up as she rolled out of bed conking her head on the hard floor of her bedroom. In her haste to turn off the alarm, she accidentally smashed it. She would have to buy a new one. It was worth it though. The little bastard got what it deserved. She burned her breakfast so badly that the fire alarm went off. She'd spent ten minutes madly fanning the fucker before she properly woke up and took the batteries out. She'd forgotten that there were batteries in the damned thing! That should've been it for the 'Max's Sucky Morning' show, but unfortunately fate wasn't so kind. Some mouthy black lesbian, not mentioning any names, used all the hot water so she was left with a freezing shower. Her favourite top got ruined in the wash and she had to search the entire apartment to find her keys. To top off the whole friggin' morning: It was raining. Again.
So after all of that, of course, Max was late. Again. It was only by twenty minutes today but still Normal rode her ass like there was no tomorrow. Normal was all 'How nice of you to grace us with your presence this morning Missy Miss'. She had grunted at that. Whatever. He should be grateful she even showed up.
So of course Normal had assigned her to Sector 12. He had also harassed her every time she came back to Jam Pony to pick up more. Max was seriously considering killing him. Wouldn't it count as justifiable homicide? She was pretty sure everyone in Jam Pony would back her up on that if need be. To avoid the inevitable exposure Max kept her stays in Jam Pony as short as possible. It didn't help her day.
She'd had the worst customers. 26 Argyle wouldn't answer the door. There was someone home. Max had seen him peek through the curtains; he just wouldn't answer the door. 749 Kirkland screamed that the package was broken, even though it wasn't and undoubtedly, the person was in desperate need of their daily dose of happy-pills. Or at the very least anti-psychotics. One of her packages didn't even have an address, but an intersection. 894 Main St. refused to sign for the package because the company had sent her the wrong order. She got sent into the middle of a gang war. And even that wasn't fun. Max had pulled in a grand total of $1.21 in tips. All day. One old bat gave her a penny. A freaking PENNY! And she'd almost been hit by a truck. Clearly, the day could not get any worse. Then there was a small niggling feeling at the base of her spine.
Oh crap. Her pager.