Working Overtime

I had worked in the new office tower in Spanish Harlem for about six months and was already being made to work overtime. Don't get me wrong, the checks were great! It's just that my social life was starting to suffer. I hadn't seen my friends in weeks and I hadn't gotten laid in over a month.

I mean, even the custodial staff, whom I never even speak to or acknowledge, was starting to get my attention. I have never mixed business with pleasure, too risky in the junior executive realm. While I have several peers that wear the hell out of their European-cut suits, assets all on display, I don't have the time or the courage to pursue any extracurricular activities.

Usually when I work overtime there are a couple other juniors in the building. However, tonight I was all alone, except for the cleaning staff. The other staff had opted to attend a company party tonight and work on Saturday. I decided I wanted my weekend off and chose to work on this quiet Friday evening.

After one of my restroom breaks I noticed a small sticky note by the telephone that I hadn't remembered seeing before. It read, "don't forget to handle that job in the media room." The media room was where the graphic artists, marketers and IT personnel worked so I was surprised they wanted someone in accounts to "handle" anything. But hey, put it all on the trainees, right?

As I approached the media room I thought I heard some movement. I looked around and didn't see the cleaning crew and assumed they had gone for the night. I brushed it off and pushed open the door. There, in the dimly lit room, and to my surprise, was one of the newer janitors I had noticed.