Excerpts from Employee Relations

Okay, everyone. Be nice, I've never written a book before. I'm trying to get my mojo running for work and for that unpublished paper I did in 2010. Whatever.

“Sometimes, these bastards are all cut shirts and no tie.” she said. With my hands raised in confused gestures over our half-emptied glasses, I was hard-pressed for a witty retort. “Come on, man. What do you expect? I’m absolutely sure they’re into cutting ties with no shirt.” Decidedly inebriated and moderately annoyed, she shot back: “Well, that Joy Division shirt makes you look like a poseur!” 

With last call down, Candace was practically dead in my lap and I had to leave for work in a couple of hours. Knowing I was fucked both ways, I reluctantly stuffed her in the back seat of a cab back to the apartment. What was I supposed to do? We weren’t exactly kicking it upscale out there. It’s the least a twenty-something emotional voyeur could do.

The thing with her and me is it’s kind of like we’re dating, but without any of the attraction or accountability involved. There was less dicking to be had, but there was a lot more Seinfeld and it was fine. It was NSA in a gay best friend kind of way. She definitely got around but changing sheets after every dumb, sexy horse in the male model carousel, it was always my bed at the end of the night. It was my favorite sitcom; real, present, and slumped over my living room couch. Whatever this was, it was our thing.

Five hours later, I woke up to a post-apocalyptic hangover topped with a pink, heart-shaped Post-It. Fighting off the morning haze; I managed to make sense of the message scrawled on my face.

“Ian, thanks for saving my drunk ass. Call me after work. Love, C. Xoxo”

Wishing I could feel warm and fuzzy instead of the three-mile island I had in my head, I reached for the phone in hopes of acquiring information regarding some pressing matters in the form of a sensible text message.

“Dear Candace, WHERE THE FUCK ARE THE REST OF MY POST-ITS!? Sincerely yours, Ian.”

Okay, it made more sense at the time. Later in the morning, she chimed back in saying,

“Coffee on me. 7pm. Be there or the Post-Its get it!”