Choices

(This story contains adult situations and language)

My eyes fly open as the first rays of light break through the blinds in my bedroom. 

Wait? First rays of light? I should not be seeing this. I should have been up before those first rays of light. 

I sit upright, and someone is lying next to me. I’m single and live alone… I don’t even have a roommate. Who is this? I rub the sleepy grit from my eyes and look closer. She’s cute, whoever she is. I look from her to the clock on my bedside table. It reads 7:04 a.m.. I should have been up at 6. I try to remind myself why… 

Shit. I had a job interview today. At 8:30. 

I nudge the stranger next to me and she stirs. The corners of her lips turn up slightly and she reaches for me. 

“Aye, yo… Um… You need to wake up and I need to go,” I tell her. 

Her eyes open and the upturned corners move to a frown. “Well damn. Okay, then.” She props herself up on her elbows. 

“Sorry. I’m late. I have a job interview. And it’s big.” I am piling my hair into a messy bun on top of my head and she’s scrambling around for her clothes. 

“I get it.” She mumbles, pulling a black sports bra over her head. I’m wracking my brain for her name, but nothing is coming to me. Most of last night is not coming to me. 

I remember going to the club to celebrate my best friend Mel’s divorce. We sprung for VIP and bottle service. 

I remember dancing with the woman who is getting dressed in my bedroom. I remember doing shots of Patron with her and Mel and a few others. I remember making out with the stranger. I don’t remember coming home with her. 

I shake my head to clear it, I don’t have time to ponder. But she’s cute. “Hey, um… Before you go, can I get your number?” 

She gets that cute upturn in her lip again. She slides my phone off of the dresser and hands it to me so I can unlock the screen. I hand it back to her. “I’m so sorry… But-”

“I got it. Go. Text me later, Kitten.” She winked at me and handed me my phone. “I’ll let myself out.” 

I shower as fast as I can, and throw on basic black slacks and a white button down. I smooth out my bun and make it look more formal as I slip on a pair of black leather heels. Lucky for me, my bag with my resume and portfolio is already packed and in my car. 

I look at the clock, it’s 7:35 am. I add some concealer to my under eyes to camouflage my dark circles, add some eyeliner, mascara and gloss, and before I know it, it’s 7:40. I have 40 minutes to drive 35 minutes. I’m going to be just fine. 

I even have time to make it to Starbucks. 

I hop in my car, back out of my garage, and get down the street, when I realize I don’t have my bag like I thought I did. 

I make an illegal u-turn, another driver flips me off. I smile and wave. I run back in the house, grab my bag and throw it in the back seat. I only cut into my time by a few minutes. I can still squeeze a Starbies run in. 

I gun it to the nearest Starbuck’s hoping like hell I don’t get a ticket. The line looks reasonable, so I pull in. I order an Americano, black. While I wait, I look at my phone and open it to the contacts screen. I see my stranger put her name in as, “Jae - From Mo’s” with her phone number. I would have to call her or at least text her later. I shoot her a text, ‘Sorry about this morning. Let me make it up to you- Dinner tonight?’

I watch the dots on the screen indicating that she’s responding. 

The car behind me honks, prompting me to look up from my phone and move forward. 

I pull up and she responds with, ‘Only if you are on the menu for dessert’ with a purple devil emoji. 

I send her the winky emoji and she sends a restaurant and time to meet her. 

The car in front of me makes it to the window. It’s 8:02. If I really gun it, I can still make it on time. That car just sits at the window. 1 minute… 2 minutes… I chew my thumbnail as I’m getting anxious. Three minutes… 4 minutes… A hand comes out the window and delivers a hot breakfast sandwich and four coffees. 

I get to the window and I pay. And then I sit. One minute… 2 minutes… 3 minutes… My coffee gets handed to me, and I take off. At this point, I will be lucky if I am in the parking lot on time. 

I balance the coffee in my left hand and steer with my right as I zip through traffic. The speakers of my car are blasting a mix of Bombay Dub Orchestra, DJ Drez, and other yoga inspired music. I chug the hot coffee and weave in and out of lanes. The music is supposed to calm my nerves and remind me to breathe. 

I am fully aware that I should have turned down the night out at the club, but how often does your best friend get divorced? Okay, well, in Mel’s case, this was number two- but still. And how often does a hot girl come home with you from the club? Okay, to be fair, I get a lot of that. But still. 

As I am weaving through the traffic, thinking I might be making up time, my field of vision is drenched in a sea of red tail lights. Traffic is at a complete standstill. I realize that I live in Southern California, and traffic is just sort of a way of life, but going this direction at this time of day should be going against the flow of traffic and should be mostly clear. As I slam on my breaks, I almost spill the hot java in my hand as I grip it against the steering wheel. I hold my breath in the anticipation of the spillage, or a rear ending from the cars behind me. 

It’s 8:22. I’m less than five minutes away. Come on! 

I let out a scream of frustration. 

I grab my phone and begin to scroll through my recent calls to find their number to call them, when my phone screen flashes to an incoming call. It’s Mel. I send her to voicemail and continue scrolling, to try to find the number to call to let them know I’m stuck in some bullshit. 

Mel’s number flashes across my screen again. She never calls me. Most of my friends know if you want to reach me, text me. So for her to call me twice, it might be important. I give in and answer. “Is someone dead? What the fuck? I’m late for a job interview and I need to call them.”

“Calm your tits. I was just calling to make sure you were still alive after leaving me at the bar, drunk, and with a stranger. What if she was a serial killer?”

“Damn. Okay. I’m alive. I got to go.”

“She was cute, though.”

“Yeah, no she was. I had to kick her out this morning. But we are having dinner tonight so there’s that. Shit. I gotta go. Like now.” I hung up on Mel without another word and continue scrolling for the number, looking up to see we haven’t moved an inch in the last five minutes. 

I’m now officially late for the biggest interview of my life. 

I have no one to blame but myself, honestly. This whole day has been a series of my own bad choices, which is actually the culmination of my whole life in this same pattern, but a job like this would be an incentive to maybe start making better decisions. 

I find the number and it’s 8:35. I click the button to call, and the line is busy. Fuck. My. Life. 

We inch forward by a few feet at a snails pace and I redial. “McLaughlin, Dennison, and James. How may I help you?” 

“Oh. Hey. Yeah. Hi. This is Shannon Troy. I have an 8:30 interview and I’m stuck on the 15. I am really trying to get there.” 

“Um, I’m just the receptionist. Let me see if I can find Mr. McLaughlin. Hold please.” 

An instrumental version of “Sailing” comes through the line. Blinking back tears, I began to bargain with God. “I’m so sorry. God, I promise I will make changes. Please… Just let me get this interview. Get this job. I swear, I will start being better. I will make better choices.” 

“Ms. Troy, I’m patching you through toMr. McLaughlin right now.” 

“Good morning, McLaughlin,” a stern voice cracks over the line. 

It all came out in an excited rush in one long breath. “Hi. Good morning, sir. This is Shannon Troy- your 8:30… I’m so sorry. I’m late. I’m so late. And I didn’t think I would be. And I fully admit I planned poorly on leaving my house. But it’s not a reflection of my capabilities or my professionalism and that I really am trying to get there, and this opportunity means the world to me and I swear on everything that’s holy, I’m almost there.” 

An exasperated sigh came out on the other end. “How far are you?” 

“I can see the exit. But traffic isn’t moving.” 

A long pause on the other end. “I appreciate your candor and willingness to own the bad choices. That speaks to something. I’m not sure what…” He trailed off and I had a window- a glimmer of hope. 

The cars in front of me began to move, and I blurted out, “We are moving. I’m on my way. I will be there. Please!”

Another sigh. “You better be worth it.” 

I flew into the parking lot, nearly running over an old man walking his dog. The only parking spot available was labeled Employee of the Year. I took it as manifesting my destiny and zipped into it.

… And I did get the job.