"Today is the day…But what if he says no? What if he just laughs in my face for even mentioning a raise? Who am I fucking kidding? Nevermind."
Again. Michonne fell back into her chair before weakly pulling herself back into the cubicle and back inside the sad reality of her life and that she was never going to build up enough confidence to ask George for a raise.
"Yo! Mich?
Michonne's body sunk even further back into her chair in hopes of the chair concealing her enough that she would no longer be in Tara's line of fire but she knew the barrage of questions was inevitable at this point. As of recently, Tara has become the most obnoxiously inclusive person at work ever since her and Denise's announcement of their engagement.
You're still going out with us, right?"
"I'm...I was planning on visiting my brother this weekend. I'm sorry."
"Oh, come on, Mich. Everyone's coming. It'll be fun. Just tonight. Please, please, please!"
Michonne didn't know what was more depressing. The thought of having to come to work with another fabricated story about one of her family members or having to bear looking at those fake puppy dog eyes Tara kept projecting at her.
"Okay. Just tonight, though."
"Awesome! We'll see you there at 8, Mich!"
What the hell did I just get myself into? A night out with my coworkers. Most of them I don't even talk to and one that I have to refrain from putting into a chokehold on a daily basis. This is going to be terrible. What if I say something stupid or what if I get so drunk I embarrass myself and will forever be known as that coworker you should never invite out? Why did I say yes anyway?
"So we're going to Harvey's with your new bestie, huh?
Don't start, Andrea. I'm still kicking myself about it.
Andrea was the first person she met after moving to Atlanta three years ago. She was funny, creative but incredibly cynical about pretty much everything, perhaps that's why they remained friends for so long, Michonne had to think to herself.
"Hey, who knows? Maybe you'll get lucky and we'll finally have something interesting to talk about." Andrea joked before placing her hands behind her head and leaning back into the cubical next to Michonne.
"I think I would have better luck being Tara's maid of honor." Michonne quickly retorted.
Breaking their snickering, George leaned himself up against the cubical."Michonne, can I speak with you for a moment in my office, please?"
"Sure." Not knowing why he wanted to see her, she followed him in the direction of his office nervously.
"Have a seat, Michonne."
She placed herself down into the leather seat and began to anxiously run her now sweaty palms down her pants, anticipating what George was going to say next.
"I've heard through the grapevine that you're thinking of quitting if you don't get a raise. Is this true, Michonne?
Stunned by this bluntness of his question, Michonne was rendered speechless for a few seconds before answering.
"It's not that I was going to quit, I ju. Just thought that since I've been here for a while, a raise wouldn't be too much to ask for. I am a good worker and I feel that I deserve to be paid more than I am currently."
Michonne felt a sense of relief that she had finally said what she had been practicing in the mirror for months. However at the same time, she felt anger that someone in the office had the gall to go behind her back and gossip to her boss about something they had no business speaking to him about.
"Well, I can't give you a raise, Michonne. You are a good worker. There's no denying that. Never had any complaints about you but raises are just not in our budget at the moment. I'm sorry. Maybe in another year we can talk about it, but as of now, it's just something that's not on the table."
A sudden feeling of nausea hit her stomach as she watched him collapsed back down into his chair and resuming looking over files and dismissing her from his office without even looking back up at her.
"I quit." She announced before slamming the door of his office.
7:53pm that night.
Michonne sat in the taxi for what seemed like an eternity, periodically glancing out of the window and silently counting under her breath. She closed her eyes feeling the blood pound in her ears and the sinking feeling in her chest. The realization of now being unemployed and stepping out of her comfort zone was making her even more uneasy with each passing minute. After seven minutes and $2.55 later of wrestling with the idea of having the taxi driver leave the scent of burnt rubber in the air of the congested parking lot, she finally opened the car door and withdrew herself from the taxi.
"Hey, everyone! Check it out! Mich made it! I want my fucking five dollars, Daryl! "
Michonne rolled her eyes at the thought of Tara and Daryl betting on whether or not she would come out tonight while removing her jacket and locating the bar for the strongest drink on the menu to soothe her nerves.
"All the drinks are on me and my beautiful fiancé so let's drink up but remember to drive response..respon-a-bill.. Responsibly! Yeah, that's the word I meant. Drink responsibly!"
"Jesus. Tara doesn't waste any time getting shitfaced does she?" Andrea shook her head before having a seat next to Michonne.
"You know, for a second, I didn't think you were going to show up either. Just being completely honest with ya." Andrea confessed before ordering a cherry Vodka.
"To be honest, I wasn't. But I thought what the hell. It's been months since I've been out the house. I needed some air. Oh. Plus, I quit today, so yeah.
Can, I get a Blue Hawaiian, please?"
Andrea slammed her Vodka down and zeroed in on Michonne with her mouth hanging open.
"You. Did. What?
"I couldn't take it anymore, Andrea! I'm not going to be treated like shit for the next ten years of my life or however long I was planning on sticking it out at that piece of shit company and besides I can find something else. I'm not worried about it."
"Well, damn Mich. I'm proud of you! Let's drink to..to letting go of a shitty job and an asshole of a boss."
For the next half an hour, Michonne and Andrea continued to sit at the bar observing everyone's drunken behavior and laughing at how exceedingly high pitched and off key Daryl's singing voice was during his remixed rendition of Ricky Martin's 1999, Livin la Vida Loca.
"Okay..Okay..OKAY! Daryl, damn! Let someone else have a turn at the mic!" Tara shouted before nudging Daryl off of the stage.
"Last one of the night.
Andrea! Michonne! Come on down. You ladies are the only ones that haven't done it yet!"
Michonne instantly felt the room disfigure and she was now viewing it through fish eye lens. From her feet to her hands everything tingled and started and fell weak.
"Let's do this, Mich!" Andrea slammed her forth glass of vodka down on the bar and led the terrified Michonne into the drunken crowd of onlookers and onto the stage.
"Do y'all have Hollaback girl, by Stefani?!" Andrea yelled at the Dj while checking to make sure her voice was audible in the mic.
Michonne took in a long and deep breath in an attempt to stop the room from spinning above her.
"Uh huh.
This my shit.
All the girls stamp your feet like this…
"Come on Michonne! You know this part, girl! Sing it!" Andrea excitedly encouraged her to start the chorus with her. Michonne wrapped her hands around the mic until her nails dug into her trembling palms hoping that would be enough to distract from the overwhelming feeling to pass out. She looked around the room before widening her mouth, preparing to sing despite the feeling of bile wanting to fill her mouth.
"Few times I've been around that track
So it's not just.-
But before she was able to finish the second lyric line on the teleprompter, the bile had won the fight.
Michonne concealed her face in complete shame and embarrassment as her coworkers stood in shock and laughter.
Three months later.
After a tedious search through countless job searches online and five failed interviews, she was desperate for anything. In a last hope effort, Michonne submitted her resume in for a front office receptionist for Mr. Grimes, a licensed therapist with seven years' experience and a specialization in anxiety and interpersonal psychotherapy.
…...
Six days later and one job interview invitation later
Dark and swirling clouds blanketed the gray sky as rain relentlessly crashed against Michonne's yellow umbrella. She jogged across the street and onto Mr. Grimes' private practice. She let out a few nervous breaths into the cold stiff air, however beginning to second guess whether or not this would be the sixth failed interview. She could not financially afford to not get this job. She had already used up all of the money in both her checking and savings account and now was working on using her credit cards in order to buy groceries and pay rent. Not getting this job was not an option for her. She swallowed her anxiety before taking the plunge and entering the homely establishment.
Michonne removed the soaking hood that obstructed her sight and made her way over to the receptionist desk.
"Hi, my name is Michonne Boyum. I have an interview with Mr. Grimes for 4 o'clock."
"Ah. Ms Boyum. He's finishing up with a client. He'll be with you in a few minutes. You can have a seat right over there and bottle of water or a warm cup of black tea as you wait, if you like?"
"A tea would be great, thank you."
"Certainly."
Michonne couldn't help but stare at the thin and slightly teary eyed brunette.
"Excuse me, are you okay?"
The woman seemed stunned at Michonne's awareness of her true disposition.
"I'm Fine! Why do you ask?"
Well, your mascara is smeared and you look like you've been crying."
The woman's kind smile gradually morphed into an irritated expression.
"You're here for the receptionist job, aren't you?"
"I am."
"Well, don't think you're special because you're not."
"I'm sorry?"
"You heard me."
Not wanting to mess up this opportunity by screwing up another job prospect, she flashed a smirk before walking over to the waiting room.
. …
Michonne maneuvered her wet raincoat over her other arm as she awaited Mr. Grimes on the dusty brown colored leather sofa. She took in another sip of her tea as she tried to calm her thoughts. "Don't think you're special because you're not."
"What the fuck is that suppose to mean? Michonne asked herself. Tracing her thin fingers over the sides of the warm cup of tea, she jolted at the deep voice from behind her.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms Boyum."
Startled by his southern drawl, Michonne turned around to greet Mr. Grimes' however the initial shock of how handsome he was caused her to pause momentarily before greeting him in return.
"Likewise."
The receptionist scowled at their exchange before loudly gathering her rose shaded lipstick and foundation powder. Keeping a persistent eye on them, she strutted off into the ladies' restroom to tidy her makeup.
"So, Ms. Boyum. I've looked over your resume and I must say I'm impressed. But I'm going to be frank you. You seem a little overqualified for this position. He informed her before crossing his legs and directing his curious eyes to hers.
"I..I know. But I." She let out a deep breath. Can I be frank you with you also?"
"I would hope so."His face took on a small grin as he bit his bottom lip, preparing for her concession.
"I really need the money. I quit my job, really impulsively. And right now, I'm just looking for something that is stable and will be put food on the table."
Relieved that she laid everything out but quickly starting to regret admitting how badly she needed this job, she looked into his face and tried to analyze any expression as to whether he was about to call in that bitch of a receptionist and have her escorted out of his office.
Rick tilted his head back slightly, almost giving the impression of being astonished by her level of candidness. "This is going to be very boring work for you, Ms. Boyum. Very boring work." He made sure to put an extra emphasis on the last part in case she needed to be reassured a second time. "I don't mind boring work."
Michonne couldn't help but stare away from the intensity of his gaze, however still managing to steal a few glances in between examining his artwork that adorned most of his office walls.
"If you are sure you can deal with it, you have yourself a job?"
"You won't be disappointed, Mr. Grimes."
"Please. Just call me, Rick, Ms. Boyum." He firmly shook her hand and flashed her a kind smile.
Later on that evening.
"That will be all, Ms. Moore. Thank you. You should have your final check mailed to you within the next 72 hours.
Irked by the newfound professionalism between them now, the receptionist dropped a large stack of print paper for the copy machine down on the desk before marching over to Rick's office.
"You are such an emotionless, lying piece of shit! Do you know that, Rick?!"
Exhausted with her childish temper tantrums, Rick calmly removed himself from behind his desk and leisurely inched closer to the clearly distraught Lori.
"Listen, Lori. Like I told you from the start. We were never going to be what you wanted us to be. This is over."
Lori froze with a surly expression upon her flushed red face.
"Fuck you, Rick Grimes."
That night at Michonne's apartment.
Michonne rolled her head into the lukewarm water, drenching her thick locs as she flinched her toes onto the cold ceramic floor. She balanced herself by placing her hands on the shower walls as she tried to make sense of everything that happened this evening. After leaving her interview and the dirty looks that followed her out of the door from the receptionist she assumed she was jealous of her taking her job or maybe it was something else, been something deeper. She also replayed each moment with Rick Grimes like a book of flashing photographs. Rick was attractive but more notably, he seemed genuine. There was a warmth that emitted from his eyes that surrounded her like a comforting blanket when she was sat in front of him.
Rick grabbed his car keys, set the alarms and began to turn off the lights inside the building before shutting the door. Not expecting it to tell me as cold as it was outside, he clenched his coat before jogging over to his quickly retreat into his black Lexus and starting up the sedan. He sat in his car for a few seconds reflecting on the day, his clients, Lori and Michonne. He lingered on how endearing Michonne looked revealing why she was willing to take such uninspiring job with her qualifications. He smiled to himself as he placed the keys in the ignition. As the ambient lighting lit up sedan, Rick let out an annoyed sigh as he winced his eyes to made out the letters inscribed on his window shield, L.I.A.R, in what appeared to be in pink lipstick.