Liberation Day: Stories by George Saunders

Author:George Saunders [Saunders, George]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2022-10-18T00:00:00+00:00

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Ten minutes later, Brenda stumbled out of Tim’s office, so mad she lurched off to one side and clunked into the wall before righting herself.

You dumb tall slut, she thought. This is what you do? Narc me out? Me, the one who does all your shitwork, you boobless snooty tall drink of water? Take secret movies of me? Blow me, sister. Super rude, go fuck yourself.

The bullshit a person had to put up with! She worked longer hours than any of them and made like ten times less and didn’t get to lounge around discussing shit such as new clients and Lessons Learned and hadn’t gotten to make a spaceship out of Legos that time in Team Building but just had to sit there in her dungeon all day like a good robot and type and type while everyone else sat out there laughing and yapping about Proactive Complaint Assessment and then they all left work early to go to a bar or some such shit and came in hungover and late the next morning to put in, like, ten minutes of work before sneaking out for lunch and a fuck.

Speaking of which.

Ha!

She pulled open a file drawer.

They just dumped their stupid typing jobs on the desk of the nameless blob, her, then rode her all day until she got it done, then pissed and moaned about even the smallest mistake, then went out to lunch while she skipped lunch or, if she did get lunch, it was just an apple and a slice of cheese in a plastic sack from home that she lugged up to that picnic table on top of that weird little man-made hill looking down on the utility shed, and even then she never got her whole hour because some entitled jerk would suddenly be standing at the bottom of the hill, yelling up that she was the roadblock, she was the one holding everything up, get down here, come down here right away, Brenda, Jesus! And down that steep hill she’d come at a high rate of speed, trying not to take a tumble like that one time when she’d had on the little heels she’d started wearing to at least try to look nice, and did that person, Chaz or Donald or Kirk or whoever, as she hit that bottom part of the hill that was somehow both steep and mushy, put out his hand, to help her down, like a gentleman? No! He was already heading back across the parking lot, as if she were some stray lazy cow being led back to the herd, not turning around to chat or be nice, not holding the door open for her but just letting it glide shut in her face.

Now she had a nice little pile. Of reservation records. From the Marriott. And another pile, of Gen’s time sheets. Gen had been at the Marriott from eleven a.m. until four p.m. on May 9th. For example. And billed Kodak for the whole day.

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