It’s 4:20, so that means I’m on a break from work at my job as a legal assistant at the law firm of Marks, Sanchez and Reed. Lately though, I’ve been thinking they should rename themselves Sugar Daddy Central.
I swear the law office has turned into a real life Match.com for older lawyers and their younger subordinates. First, Asher Marks hooked up with the new associate Madilyn. That part wasn’t surprising because Asher Marks hooks up with a new associate every year.
What was surprising is that he proposed marriage to her. No one ever thought Asher would settle down and get engaged. Then I found out that Asher’s co-founding partner Cameron Sanchez— whom everyone calls Ron— is officially getting it on with my friend and fellow secretary Ruby.
Apparently, some girls can’t walk into their boss’ offices without lifting up their skirt and tempting them with the goods. And some bosses can’t resist bending their secretaries over their desk and having their way with them.
This thought might sound judgmental but I think it with love, because both Madilyn and Ruby rock. But what the ever-loving fuck has gotten into younger girls around my age?
Sure, Madilyn is twenty-five and has a law degree— but that’s still much closer to my age than her fiancé Asher, who is old enough to be her father. And Ruby is close to me in age— she’s twenty years old.
Are there no more young knights in shining armor? They’re all old and rich?
I wouldn’t know. I’m not involved with any of that craziness. My only love affair is with books.
People think I’m just a pothead, but I’m a deep-thinking pothead. My only boyfriends are long-dead authors— such as William Faulkner, whose books I’ve read and re-read too many times to count.
If you've read one William Faulkner novel, though, you've read them all. They're all the same Southern dysfunctional family bullshit. But I'm drawn to them like moths to a flame even though they're just as dangerous for me.
Most people read to escape, preferably to some perfect fantasy world, but for some reason I’m compelled to read books that are close to my own reality. Every day I tell myself "No more depressing novels. Try something light! Or at least throw some kinky Nabokov in with your Flannery O'Conner."
But then most days I pick up the same old tomes full of darkness and sadness, even though they remind me of how bleak and depressing my own life really is, which only makes things worse.
I can’t forget boring. My own life is really fucking boring. And my job is boring. It feels utterly inconsequential. Or as if I’m inconsequential to anything that goes on in the office.
I’m so inconsequential that I'm sitting in my car reading The Sound and the Fury and smoking a bowl and no one will even notice I’m gone. I'm sure there are people who judge me for smoking pot. In fact, that's why I'm out here in my car instead of in the file room where I used to smoke it, before the Powers That Be— namely, Asher and Cameron— found my vape pen and assumed it was Ruby’s.
I guess I can see why they assumed that. With the dyed streaks in her hair and her alternative way of dressing, Ruby looks like the type who would smoke weed. That's part of why I love her. But really, she's as straight laced as they come— or at least she is now.
The last thing I wanted to do was get Ruby into any trouble. I had to fess up to the vape pen being my dirty little not-so-secret (if anyone besides secretaries— or, in Ruby's case, bosses getting head from secretaries— came into the file room once in a while they'd happen to know what goes on in there).
I thought I'd get fired and I was prepared for that possibility. It probably wouldn't have been the worst thing that could happen. Maybe it would spur me on to find a better, more stimulating job— since mine is so boring and all.
It's not that I don't want more responsibility. It's just that no one thinks to give it to me.
The partner I work for, Jameson “Jim” Reed, is in court all the time and doesn't let me come with him because he has a paralegal assigned to the case. Paralegals can bill time for their hours spent working on litigation whereas lowly secretaries— we're technically called legal assistants nowadays— cannot.
A lot of legal assistants are assigned to more than one partner but Jim is such a big wig— I jokingly call him a diva— that he demands exclusivity. And since he’s one of the three named partners that helped start the firm— along with Asher and Cameron— I suppose he’s entitled to make demands. Even if it means I have nothing to do all day.
When I told Ron that it was my vape pen and not Ruby’s, I didn’t get fired. In fact, it saved Ruby’s job and Ruby and Ron’s relationship. Since it wasn’t Ruby’s vape pen, she could come back to the firm. And since I have a medical card, Ron really didn’t know what to do with me, so he did nothing.
I think Ron felt so grateful to me for that that he would have promoted me to office manager. But he was still a little worried about what he viewed as my pot problem.
I explained to him that medical marijuana helps me with my anxiety and ADHD. I also told him I wouldn’t sue him for his violation of my HIPAA rights by asking about my disability and my medications.
So, he said he doesn’t care as long as I don’t smoke it in the office. Now I take my breaks in my car.
First I have to walk by all the secretaries standing outside smoking their cigarettes, which are a lot more dangerous than my vape pen, even if Ron and the other partners don’t see it that way yet. They just haven’t caught up with the times. One day they’ll realize they should be vaping too. Everyone should be, if you ask me.
As I’m staring at the secretaries who are gathered just outside the door of the main entrance to our building, wondering if I should go give them my advice about switching from tobacco to marijuana— although I’m sure they wouldn’t appreciate my little tip— someone catches my eye. How could he not?
This guy is hot. So hot that he makes me wet just by looking at him. I want to find out where he’s going and how I can go there too.