My Vivid Inner Life

Mr. Valdez stared at the woman before him as though his eyes could bore laser-holes straight through her skull and etch burn marks on the bland, cream-colored office wall behind her.

"I told you to get that sale no matter what it took. NO MATTER WHAT IT TOOK. That meant if the client wanted you to get on your knees while he ate breakfast off your back, you were supposed to do it! And did you?" His voice was loud enough to cause a hum in the glass of the picture frame on his desk.

"No, Mr. Valdez." She said, her tone barely above a murmur.

"No you did not! Instead, you ignored his calls! You lost his paperwork! You forgot to pick him up from his flight! All of this and he was still willing to work with us, but you..." The lecture continued for quite some time.

The woman in front of him did not raise her dull brown gaze, her eyes fixated somewhere in the air between his desk and his tie. Her eyes were matched by her mousy hair, which was not entirely captured by the loose bun at the nape of her neck. Her outfit was bland, gray slacks, a cream shirt, but both too baggy and somewhat wrinkled, falling in odd places around her body. Even her shoes were flat, serviceable, and uninspired. Free from make-up, her face had no outstanding features other than a wedge of a nose and somewhat clear skin - the rest merely a blank canvas without any focus.

If she were prettier or more vivacious - if she could do her job like he told her to do, then she wouldn't be getting chewed out in his office right now. The other female employees knew how to keep him happy. It didn't take much, just get his coffee, clutch and hug his arm every now and then, bat their eyes and pout when asking for extra time for the project or for more funding. This plain little bird did none of those things. She was a waste of her feminine assets as well as a substandard worker.

A draft stirred in the cold office. Mr. Valdez flipped the hair of his comb-over back across the top of his head. Tapping his knuckles on the file that spread across the surface of his coffee-ringed desk, he said, "We couldn't afford to lose this client. I gave this account to you because you showed some results a while back with Hoffermeyer and Sons, but it's been a year since then and every single client you've been given has failed to sign on with us! Can you tell me WHY this is happening? Because-"

"Because I told them to."

It was a rhetorical question, but after a brief pause she answered anyway.

A deep red flush crawled up the strained veins of Mr. Valdez's neck.

"What did you say?"

"I told them to." The woman finally met his gaze for a moment. "They'd ask me, 'Why should we go with your company,' and I said, 'You shouldn't. We're not really in a good place right now.'"

Outside the office, the rest of the office workers jerked their heads up at the sound of a slam followed by a spate of explosive cursing. The blinds of the office rustled as the magazine that was thrown against them thumped onto the floor. The woman crouched with her hands over her head.

The first violent reaction passed, with the cursing and shaking fists and pointing fingers now flying in her direction (and it was rather fortunate the desk was between them), she slowly stood, still and quiet, her hands carefully clasped in front of her body.

"Are you trying to ruin me? Are you trying to ruin me?" Mr. Valdez slumped back into his chair, his face going from a deep maroon to a pale white, clutching at his chest.

"Your blood pressure pills are in the top drawer," she said, semi-helpfully.

"I damn well know where they are!" He shouted, then groaned and clutched his chest again. As he searched for the pills and something to take them with, the damned woman spoke again.

"I try to be honest," she said. "I can see that maybe working at a marketing firm isn't for me. It's harder to be honest when all of this selling is going on. I would like to quit."

Mr. Valdez stared at her with eyes bugged out in disbelief. "Are you an idiot?! Of course we sell things! Our clients sell things! We sell what our clients need to sell! Everybody fucking sells! What do you think we do around here?! We sell because selling makes money and money pays your fucking rent! The whole fucking world sells!"

The woman blinked her dull brown eyes. "Of course they do. But it's better to be honest when you do it. Sooner or later, it'll come back to you."

"We do what the client wants, and if the client wants to sell fucking water to the people in Africa they stole it from, or sell a product that will cause house fires, we're going to do it because that's our damn job! Where the fuck did a dull bitch like you suddenly grow a pair of ethics, huh?"

"...I think that's grow a pair of balls."

"...Get out. Get out. You're fired! Terminated! Finished! Get out of my office, get out of this company, and you can expect a visit from our lawyer for the damage that you've done to our good professional reputation - "

"But we don't have one-"

"GET OUT!" Mr. Valdez screamed and launched his pill bottle at her. The cap separated and flew to the side while the pills scattered and pelted her softly.

Her dull brown eyes gazed at the pills scattered across the bland office carpet.

"You should keep better control of your temper, Mr. Valdez," she said. "It's not good for your health."