The Story wreckered Doesn't Want You to Read

Seonaid Divine

The Story wreckered Doesn't Want You to Read

Never let the sun go down on your anger. Or so they say. I’m here to say, that’s bullshit. Let the sun rise on it too. Never let them see your anger when the sun rises. Always keep them guessing where you've gone  to. Ladies, I’m talking about your men.
Today my boss called me in for an unscheduled review. "You need to leave your personal life at home," he said. "No more crying at your desk. Arguing with your boyfriends. Vomiting into the break-room recycling bin." Blah, blah. What a crap excuse to keep from giving me a raise. As if I didn’t know what he was about. Since when does a lifestyle diva not blog about…her life?
Perhaps I should do as my Editor does, and take "work" home instead. I didn’t want to point fingers, but a reporter’s first obligation is to the story.
BLIND ITEM
Which control-freaky Editor of a prominent webrag is romancing which staff sexpert behind closed doors? We hope it’s not office doors, but some of us have lives and therefore are not here ‘til all hours.  (This blind item has two parts. Your part is to determine who plays them.)
Rest assured, dear reader, all will be revealed if said Editor denies the expense budget for my Caribbean expose.
As tragic as my daily existence is (and you just cannot even imagine), I am still miffed that anyone in this dump should question me after years of faithful service! Yes, last night I lost at quarters and beer pong to three underage tourists. That’s all I can tell you because there are huge holes in my memory. Perhaps I should have stopped after the six drinks I remember having. It would appear that I didn’t. Excuse me.
Yes, I woke up in the alley adjacent to the office. No, I was not in the dumpster. I was on a box, beside a naked man, covered in a mural of newspaper and trash bags. It was he, not I, who stank of cigarettes and last week’s urine. My ensemble is none of Mr. Wreck’s business, even if it is a repeat. The Belgians do it all the time yet no one calls on them for an impromptu eval.
You’d think I was the only problem, but ours is an office rife with scandal.
BLIND ITEM
Which ginger-haired suck up recently made waves at company headquarters when he was spotted by a certain lifestyle columnist using colored contacts to hide cat-like pupils? Methinks there’s a story there, but who am I to tell it? He’s high on…life. That’s all I’m saying.
But, what of the quarters and beer pong? Who were those mysterious tourists, and what have they done with my memory? Did they take my number too? Faithful following, it seems I am dangerously close to revealing details about my own personal life. We wouldn’t want that, now would we?
Henceforth, I cover who, not what, I know. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to post this for my Editor’s review.
I’d have to confirm with our sham psychic but I think I see a raise in my future.
~xo Seonaid