AngelA Story by Author_4_UAngel learns the proverbial lesson about the results of judging a book by it's cover.Hello, my name is Angel. Yes I know, quite humorous isn’t it? It sounds like a dog, or better yet a stripper. In fact, it is one of the reasons that when I am
conducting business, I lie and use Angelica. I am an entrepreneur for lack of a better term. Really, what I truly am is what I term, “Every woman.” I wear various hats and I am doing fine financially. I am what could
be defined as upper middle class. I work a lot, but I have the fruit of it to show for my
efforts. Many of my contracts involve working with words, I write
well in the sense that I am able to take a person where I want to take them
with my words. It is not so much that I am some great author, but I am
a great story teller, thus I tend to get a lot of jobs writing commercials for
new products that come out, or new sales concepts for products that are not
doing well as far as sales. I do well enough that a local sales ad agency has set me
up a nice office in their building. I come and go as I please, because much of what I do can
be done from my computer at home. When I come to work in my office I am strictly business.
I am dressed and armed with an attitude of just such,
nothing but professionalism. I have this attitude because I do not confer with those
that are employed here, as I said I am in and out at will and my work speaks
for itself. I am always cordial and polite but I never let down my
guard as far as my professional attitude. This is a multi-million dollar company and I am
expendable, they can find someone else to tell their story. It is mandatory that I keep on top of my game, as far as
producing results for them. In this business it all boils down to dollar bills, or
in this case, well let’s just say large amounts of money. This day would be a day that I should have been more
perceptive and discerning.
I was
on the phone and I had 5 or 6 windows open on my laptop as I usually do when I
am working or writing. The door to my office was open and I heard someone walk
in and saw it was the delivery man with a package for me. I impatiently waved him over and all but snatched the
package out of his hand. I continued with the phone call, if you can call
punching 30 different sequences of numbers that directed me to 30 different
wild goose chases on 30 different automated voice messages of, “For blah press
one, for blah, blah, press two,” I really just wanted to talk to a human and why was this
delivery boy not going away? I looked up to view him with both of his hands palms
down and on my desk glaring at me. His tousled curly brown locks and striking blue eyes
that held more intensity and depth than what I was accustomed to and the fact
that they never broke their gripping gaze of holding on to my visage, were not
going to break through my shell of professionalism on a day like today, or any
other day. “What do you need,” I drew out the words as if speaking
to a five year old child. “I need, you to sign for the package, that you all but
jerked out of my hand Miss High and mighty,” he calmly replied. The little twit was making me mad now. Once again I drew my words out as if speaking to a
child, “Did you see the lady that was sitting at the desk out there, she is
called a receptionist, now run along and have her sign it” I stated, as I
shooed him away. He never moved his firmly planted palms, or his cold
gaze and called out over his shoulder, “Mrs. Taylor could you come here
please?” “Certainly,” the receptionist responded, making her way
in.
By
now we had locked gazes into a staring match. This little jerk was beginning to
bug me. “Mrs. Taylor” he calmly stated, never removing his gaze,
Miss Hanesley is demanding that I take this form to you to have it signed, what
do you think about that?” I looked up to view Mrs. Taylor in the door wringing her
hands and muttering, “Oh dear.” The delivery boy was still standing his ground, “I said
to sign the delivery statement, do as I asked you to do and sign it,” he calmly
stated: never breaking his gaze. I scrunched my lips and squinted my eyes, once again
looking over to view Mrs. Taylor in a mild case of panic, still wringing her
hands. I grabbed the paper signing it and all but threw it at
the little smart alac as I hissed, “The only reason that I am signing it is for the state of her health. “She looks as if
she may have a heart attack.” He smirked as he turned walking away, “Well, I would say
that you have caused enough problems for one day young lady.” I picked up the phone to dial the irritating automated
message machine again and looked up to view Mrs. Taylor still wringing her
hands and saying things like, “Oh dear and oh my” over and over. “What?” I asked thoroughly exasperated after having to
deal with the irritating delivery boy. “Oh my” she shook her head, “That is not the delivery
boy.” “He is the owner of the company.” “Oh shoot,” I muttered under my breath, “I think that I
just lost my job.” ©2013 Amber Hawkins © 2013 Author_4_U |
StatsAuthorAuthor_4_UCharlotte, NCAboutAmber presently hosts a TV program in the Charlotte NC area. She has written several self help books and has now ventured into other genres. She is very active in the fight to end hunger; and quite .. more..Writing
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