It’s a fucking Monday and I’m so fucking hungry. I know I sound like an ironic Garfield T-shirt being worn by a 45-year-old white man who has a Blue Lives Matter bumper sticker but it -is- fucking Monday and I -am- fucking hungry.
Rachel and I decided to stay up last night to watch that new movie with Zendaya, Malcolm and Marie, it was pretty good. I don’t really get why it was in black and white. I mean, I get like ~art~ and everything but sometimes it just seems like a lot. Maybe I just don't have good taste. Probably that.
We drank two bottles of Barefoot so I have a dull, but very real headache. It was worth it. Maybe tonight we can watch Trolls again; that's a movie with the right amount of color. I’m a monster.
Why am I even here? For reference, I am the only person sitting in a massive 25th story, open concept, modern, industrial-style office space that smells like inequality. I work for a bougie fucking law firm for millionaires whose sons can’t seem to grasp that no means no. I’m the receptionist. Kind of. Officially I’m an intern. It is a paid gig and it was set up through my professor, Allen, who I basically owe my life to. I at least owe my current status as not expelled to him, so if he thinks I should take an opportunity I’m gonna take it.
Anyways after lockdown, everyone was working from home for two months which was a dream cause I got away from all the creepy-ass “let me show you my gym pics” Chads that work here and are convinced that part of their job description is touching my arm and telling me how much “potential” I have. Not that I was in any way happy about the pandemic, of course. I was just relieved. I of course wish none of this would have happened. I was just trying to say… Whatever you get my point.
After those glorious two months, my boss decided that the work he did here was just simply ~too~ important to be done at home. So he very nobly started coming back into work in person and apparently that meant he needed me and -only- me to come back in as well. Because how on earth could anyone get on without me sitting in a swivel chair, answering phones, and bringing him his smoothie delivery.
At the end of the day, I’m still lucky enough to have a job that I’m getting paid for so I’m going to try to complain less. It just means I have to find more creative ways to pass the time sitting in this gigantic, freezing, empty office. During the first month, I got really into podcasts and that has helped but I needed something to fill the time between Tuesday when Office Ladies gets new episodes and Wednesdays My Favorite Murderer gets new episodes so now this is a thing. I’ve had journaling on my general to-do list for like two years because my therapist, Gretchen (she’s the best), told me it may help me ground myself better in times of stress.
It’s actually kind of nice having the alone time. For the couple of months that Rachel and I were both working from home, it was a lot. I pretty much just pass time looking at the city now. No one really calls because the world is on hold right now so really the only thing I do is pick up the mail and go downstairs to get Josh, my boss, his smoothie delivery from the weird guy who brings it on his little bicycle. I don't understand how that relationship works or what weird business sends out smoothie delivery people who look like a mob hitman on little yellow bikes but hey to each their own. Speaking of, it’s 1:30 so I have to go meet up with Captain Handlebar Mustache for our daily smoothie deal. Talk later.
Holy fucking shit holy fucking shit holy fucking shit holy fucking shit. Okay calm down, breathe breathe. Josh is dead. HOLY FUCKING SHIT HOLY FUCKING SHIT holy fucking shit holy fucking shit. His body is in his office right now. holy. fucking. shit. I just went to get his smoothie and mail. He had a package so I picked it up and Handlebar Mustache gave me the smoothie and when I came back up Josh was -fucking- dead. I need to call the cops. No, Jess, you are the only person in this office right now they will assume it’s you. I can just show them this. Oh yeah, cause that’s how alibis work- you just show the cops your journal entry, and everything is fine.
Okay. Breathe. This is supposed to ground me in times of stress. If this works I owe Gretchen -so- much more money than I’ve been paying her. Okay, I went downstairs at 1:30-ish. I have that written down here. We are the only office in use so I was the literal only person moving around. The elevator did take a second to get to me. I was the last one to use it so it should have already been on our floor. I went to the lobby and got the mail from the room behind the front desk. There were two court notices which are standard and also a little manila envelope with no address. The smoothie guy was late. He’s literally never been late. He always gets here at 1:45 and today he got there at 1:50. It’s only 5 minutes but when you have been getting somewhere at exactly 1:45 for 6 months, 5 minutes is weird. And he was acting weird. As weird as a guy who never talks can act but he was like looking around. Anyway, he gave me the smoothie and rode off. And then I went back upstairs. And oh fuck okay. I need to write this down. I got into the office and I went over to Josh’s office. I was fucking humming Here Comes the Sun cause we watched The Bee Movie last week. I knocked on the door and he didn’t answer which was weird but I thought maybe he just stepped out. So I opened the door and I didn't see him and I went to set the smoothie on his desk and then I saw his leg. He was propped up against his desk and he had blood all over him. Oh god, he is literally in there right now. Should I go look for details? What fucking good is that gonna do me. I’m going to look.
Oh my fucking god. He got stabbed with a pen. Who fucking kills someone with a pen. And not just once, like all over so many times. The pen was still in his chest. And his office was trashed. I didn’t notice that before, there was a lot going on so cut me some fucking slack. His safe was open and torn through but the cash was still there. And his smoothie was on the ground. I dropped it when I went in and it spilled all over the ground and there was a key in the puddle. I don’t know if it fell in there or if it was in there the whole time. Fuck fuck FUCK FUCK FUCK. Breathe. This is some mob shit. I’m involved in some mob shit. I’m gonna die. Like seriously. I’m not like the bad bitch who gets involved in mob shit and like, kills the boss. I’m a bad bitch just not that kind. Okay. His mail. The package, that was actually really weird. I didn’t think about that before. He only ever gets court letters in the mail. I guess if I might be going to jail for murder opening some mail isn’t gonna add that much time on. I’ll be right back.
I’m fucked. I’m absolutely fucked. The envelope has a shit ton of 100 dollar bills, a black notebook, and a passport with my fucking photo but not my fucking name. Why the fuck was Josh getting a fake passport with me on it? Also, there are so many hundred-dollar bills in front of me. Like so many. Like SO many. Like I’ve never seen this much money in my entire life. I just counted it, there are 20,000-fuckin-dollars. I just spent 20 minutes counting hundreds. It wouldn’t take me 20 minutes to spend my current life savings, much less count it. Also, the notebook is just filled with numbers. Literally, every page is just numbers. Also, it’s the same brand as the notebook I’m writing in right now. Am I supposed to just be okay with the fact that whoever just killed my boss with a fucking pen also shops at Staples for their office supplies? Also the name on the passport is Tia Turner. Why the fuck would anyone make a passport with a name that sounded that much like Tina Turner? I understand that that is not the biggest issue here, but still. Poor Josh. He was a shit person but poor Josh. Wait fuck that I forgot for a second it looks like I killed him; poor fucking me. Who the fuck makes a fake passport for their receptionist? Okay, also Josh had a star on his hand. No that doesn’t capture what I had to see; Josh had a pentagram carved into his fucking palm with what I can only assume was the pen in his chest. They’re going to think I cult murdered this bitch. I have to go now. I need to go talk with Rachel. I know that’s the first place that anyone would look for me but I need to talk with her. I guess we’re not watching Trolls tonight. Talk soon.