Oedipus

Fuck.  Goddamn it.  Motherfucker.   Fuck.   I need this job and I’ve done this in other states and they give a shit about promptness.  Move morons.   I honk my horn again.  I got in the middle motherfucking lane.   Stupid.  Son-of-a-bitch.   If I’d kept in the right or left lane I could speed on the shoulders of the fucking road and sneak back in.   I need this stupid job to pay rent, put food on the goddamn table for my kids since my asshole ex ain’t doing shit with my alimony.   Move, bastards, move.  

      I turn on the stupid radio station no one ever fucking listens to on the AM.   It tells me traffic is backed up.  No shit, Sherlock, traffic is backed up.  When the hell will it start moving again and what detours are there?   Motherfucking morons.   I could’a told you that.  They’re not sure of what’s causing the delay.  Great.   Shoulda gotten a license for a concealed weapon so I could shoot the idiot who’s stopping me from getting to my interview.   Move.  I honk my horn.  Nothing happens.  I get out my fucking phone and dial 511 and an asshole who barely speaks English gets on the phone and tells me there is an alternative route to take if I get off at the next exit.   I turn my right blinker on.  We keep standing there.  Shit.  I look at the stupid clock.  Move motherfuckers, move!   Look, I put on my pretty, low cut shirt, my expensive pink bra and matching underwear, I shaved my legs, my goddamn armpits, and my pussy, my face is full of makeup:   Mascara, eyebrow extensions, blush, lipstick.  Hell, I even put powder on my aeriolas to make them look pretty.  Move,  motherfuckers, move.   Idiots, assholes.   I swear to God, if I lose this job ‘cause of rubbernecking, someone’s going to fucking die.  

    Finally the fucking AM radio tells me shit.   There was an accident and the police are redirecting traffic.  Redirecting traffic where?   Where are they redirecting traffic?   All the cars move about a fucking foot forward.  I try to squish in to the right goddamn lane, and everyone stops again.   Then, fucking God only knows why, my lane starts moving and I’m stuck between these two fucking lanes and nobody will let me move.   Motherfucker.  Morons, move a quarter of a goddamn foot.  I press the horn.  There’s tons of goddamn space in front of me and I can’t go.  Finally, the idiot behind me backs up a bit and I’m moving and I see my exit and then, we stop again and the left lane moves.   Morons.  Why can’t the right lane move?   I check my clock and I can still make it if these morons move their cars.  Move.  

      I think if I just get out of my fucking car and run, I’d make it.  If it was billions of dollars, hell yes, but it’s just a mediocre sales job.   Moves, bastards, move.  One bastard finally moves on the right and I get in and, after seeing there ain’t no cops around here, I go on the shoulder and get to the damn dumb red light.   Left turn signal.  There’s a stupid damn left turn arrow and those stupid lights always take longer.   I race into the parking lot and two men in tuxedos look at me like squirrels about to become bird food and I slam the brakes.  Close, but thank God my boobs don’t pop out, that’ll be later.  

    So, I get out my shit, like my resume, head shots, social security card, etc and u walk in.   No time to go to the fucking bathroom to check how I look.  But, I smile at the woman at the entrance where they collect the entrance fee and tell her I have an interview and who I have it with.   She calls back on the telephone and says someone will be right with me.   I see him, a balding white man, button down multi-colored shirt, black pants, penny loafers (who still wears penny loafers?) and he makes the usual preinterview bullshit talks like how am I?   Do I want something to drink, usual BS.   He looks at my resume and asks why I left my last job and I give the same bullshit I gave at the interview at that job and the fucking moron buys it.   What are my strengths?   Have I done sales before?   How do I respond when the client says they don’t want a lap dance?   Usual bullshit.  Then, though, he tells me he wants to see.   See what I ask.   See me dance to see if it’s what they’re looking for.  You gotta be shitting me.  No, the asshole’s serious.   I tell the bastards I can do that but’ll need music of my choosing and to know about any local laws.   He asks for clarification.   Can I show all of my tits or do I need a nipple protector?   Can they see my pussy on stage or not?   Can I touch their cock when I ask if they want a lap dance.   That kinda shit.  So, he tells me the country, state, and county laws, and I get on the stage.   He hooks up my cellphone to the AV system and I hear the music.  I swing my ribs, my hips, and take off my clothes with a tease.  Start taking it off and put it back on. You know the drill.  

      Put a tampon in before I came with the string cut off so some motherfucking moron doesn’t pull on the string and cause a bloody mess.   Made sure my goddamn thong was clean too.   Both sides.   Ain’t lactating no more so I ain’t got to worry about that.   So, I do my dance to Billy Joel’s “River of Dreams,” which is in 4/4 time.  Easier to strip in 4/4.   He puts a dollar on the table so I put some friction between my breasts and his face and I see a half erection through his pants and I keep stripping with a smile.  By the end of the song, I’m naked and I go off stage and redress myself fully.  Should’a stopped in the bathroom to check my makeup.  But I come back and he says I did a great job.  So, I ask him if that means I got the job.   And then he gives me the same bullshit answer every motherfucker who doesn’t want to higher me gives.   Shit like Well, there are a lot of candidates and we have to give all of them a fair chance, but we’ll call you if you get this job.  Why they waste my time like this?   I should give him a Larena Bobbit for wasting my time.  But, I smile and leave.  

    In the way back home, I stop at an A T M and look at my balance.   Motherfucker!!!!