Well then, I guess today is the end of me. My life, my dreams, my ambitions are all going down the drain along with my dignity. Without a career, where would a college dropout be spending her life? On the streets? In the eyes of a stranger while vigorously sliding up and down a metal pole and allowing my audience to lustily gaze upon my half-naked body? The options were endless. As would be the time I will spend working the 6-hour night shift at my new job.

The newspaper comes a bit too often for the patience of my significant other. Numerous marketing sales, worldwide threats, bombings and minor battles and the infinite conflicts of religious-bound countries would fill each page. I was very fond of reading them with the benefit of informing myself of the importance of my taxes. Mostly, I read them for the political cartoons. As I led my eyes across the page, I came across a seemingly urgent article. A HELP WANTED sign in bold letters titled the stanza of words. Reading it, I suddenly realized my financial and employment status: I needed money and a job. Desperation had overcome my sensibility and I began to rush through the requirements and procedures. It was safe to say that I seemed perfect for the job. The only position open was a nighttime security guard over at Freddy Frazbear's Pizzeria. There were no special skills needed, I didn't have to have a Food Handler's License, and all I would have to do was monitor the cameras and animatronics. Okay, monitoring the animatronics was a new one, but what caught my eye was the paycheck. $120 just for the week! It may not sound like much to some, but I was a tax-paying citizen who also had rent and food to worry about. I would be the last person in the world to take this job with no regrets.

Just as I circled the job article, I heard the apartment door unlock. I perked my head up with hopes that it wasn't my landlord collecting the overdue pay. But I felt both a wave of relief and dissatisfaction when my boyfriend, Moe, walked through the door. He sighed heavily at the sight of me on the couch and threw his keys on the counter.

"Yo, Ray'mon," he called to me. "What's the holdup? Thought maybe you'd have some dinner waiting for me." I was already annoyed. I turned my eyes back to the newspaper.

"You have perfectly functional arms and legs and hopefully a brain," I snapped. "Make your own food. I'm busy."

"Doing what? You ain't got a job or a life." He replied. I risked ignoring him. I didn't need another reminder from the entrepreneur who failed to even support his own needs on his own. His parents were rich enough to give him an early stock-marketing business. What he didn't realize was the fact that the invested stocks he had within the exchanging business had run out as the stock prices were going down. In the pit of despair, he begrudgingly sold all he had in order to even afford his own small place. His parents, both respectfully successful and wise brokers, were too embarrassed to allow him to reside in their home. I pitied him because despite their wonderful personalities, they've erased his existence from the minds of the public and left him to be smothered in hatred and shame. In truth, he needed me more than I needed him.

I felt the newspaper being swiped away from my hands.

"Did you hear me, bitch?" he said. "I said I wanted some goddamned food. Now get off your lazy ass and make yourself useful." I abruptly stood up.

"For your information, you undoubtedly inoperable mutt, we don't have any edible supplements in our refrigerator," I replied. "And if allowing myself to spend five minutes from cleaning the entire place, folding the laundry, filing our taxes, scrapping whatever penny we have left, and tolerating your ignorance to sit down and look for a job is what you call lazy, then I have no idea what you would name yourself."

"Stop using that damned language you women use," he said. "I'm still starving."

"That language is called intelligence." I said and wanted to add which everyone knows you lack.

I could tell he was refraining from raising his fist and leaving a large mark on my face. He swallowed in the air and stormed out of my presence. I nonchalantly sat back down on the couch and looked at the phone number on the article.

"Hello. You've reached Freddy Frazbear's Pizzeria. The happiest pizzeria for families and kids of all ages. At our restaurant, we know how to bring those bright smiles to our children and bring them joy that they will remember forever. We also-

"Ugh, can a customer just cut through the unwanted information already?" I complain.

For our special birthday party plans and menu, press 1. To consult with our management and employees, press 4. For questions and/or concerns, press 7.

"Ah, here we go." I press the "7". I heard ringing on the other line for about six minutes before hearing a male employee's voice.

"Hello, thanks for calling Freddy's Pizzeria. This is Rick; how can I help you?"

"Hi, um, my names Ray Kelahan and I saw your article in the newspaper that your restaurant was in need of a nighttime security guard. Is that correct?" I answer in my clearest voice.

"Yes, ma'am, we sure are. We have just opened up that position this week." He said.

"Excellent because I want to apply for that position."

"Really? Well, that's great news! You know, you're the first person to apply for this job in a while and our manager's really desperate for a worker."

"Oh, well I guess that leaves no room for competitors I assume?" I'm guessing he didn't seem to understand my remark and I didn't expect him to either. I proceeded to continue my questions.

"Anyway, um, do I need to fill out an application and set up an interview with your manager?"

"Nope. Since you're our first candidate for this job, all you have to do is walk right in, look at those cameras and leave at 6:00 in the morning."

What? Not that I thought much would arise from this phone call or these restaurant members themselves, but I was starting to question my need of being hired. Then again, without having to look throughout the application and meet with the manager, a lot of time has been saved. Not only that, but there was no way I would cut myself short of how reliable and hardworking I am. I was sure I would impress them on my first night.

"Well that's good to hear. I will be arriving within the premises tonight, or rather tomorrow morning, at 12:00 a.m."

"That's great, sport! Um, just one question." I waited and listened closely. "You seem like a smart and delightful young lady. Why would you want to choose a low-class job of watching over robotic animals?"

I bit my lip and hesitated. Why should I reveal my poor choices that place a hypocritical label on my forehead with someone I had just brought into existence two minutes ago? No. If this man would desire to believe that I am the elegant and pleasant woman my vocabulary intends to unravel, so be it.

"I'm afraid that I will have to keep that material to myself. I just want a new job area to gain experience in." That seemed to be enough for him.

"Well alright, sport! Good luck! See you there!"

"Thank you. Have a good evening." I hung up the phone. And while I continued to wait on my impending involvement in this pizzeria in which I had not known occurred close to my home, I was in hope that my hopeless, pathetic lover had heard everything that had happened.