Dead End Job by Ingrid Reinke Read Free Book Online

than anything, I was just tired.
    When Martin came in a little after 8:45, I hadn’t yet geared myself up for our morning’s perky gay chat, so when he walked over, put his chin over the side of my cubicle and sighed, I had to struggle to keep myself from snapping at him. He reeked of last night’s vodka and was eating a bag of French onion potato chips, so the aroma was not exactly a pleasant breath of fresh morning air.
    “Have fun last night?” I asked.
    “Oh Guuurrrlll…” He was in full-on drag queen mode. “We went to The Cuff last night, and from what I can remember, I did not come home by myself.” Martin, being a larger man, frequented several of Seattle’s “bear” bars, which are gay clubs that cater specifically to those who are, or those who like, large and hairy men. He usually ended up going home with some random stranger or “bear hunter” and although he was openly promiscuous, confessed to me daily that he was desperately seeking a soul mate, even though he was going about it completely the wrong way.
    “Who is he?” I asked, playing along.
    “Um, I think his name was Mitch and he was older. Bald guy. Hairy. Leather pants. You know, I’ve been going ethnic lately, and he was some kind of big Norwegian or German Viking type.” He winked and stuffed some more chips into his mouth.
    I was going to tell him that there were not any German Vikings of historical note, but noting his appearance and smell, I decided not to bother and instead replied, “Wow. I am pretty sure you are still drunk, hon.”
    Martin was thrilled with this response. “I am pretty sure I am too! Beotch!” He finished it up with a high five and a wink.
    Although our banter was fine with me most days, at my latest performance review it had been mentioned by my supervisor that I was a bit “casual” in the office, which I think referred to the inappropriate sex/drinking/celebrity conversations that I had regularly with Martin. Or rather, that he had at me, since he was usually the instigator and was not exactly a quiet man. Knowing that the conversation was going to go completely south at this point, I quickly tried to change the subject to avoid hearing about the sexual adventures of Martin and the “German Viking” before he got me fired. 
    “Do you want a Diet Coke? I have some in the fridge,” I said lamely. He rolled his eyes, knowing that I was avoiding the conversation.
    “Anyways, no. But…do you have an Ativan? I am SUPER hung over, and I would love you forever!”
    “No probs.” I was used to this request and even though it was frowned upon (or maybe illegal?) I shared my prescriptions with Martin on certain occasions.  Last year, after I had confided in him about my struggle with anxiety and depression, he had suddenly developed a tendency towards rampant and inexplicable anxiety. I wasn’t sure how much of this was medical, but I had a suspicion that some it was at least partially due to Martin’s habit of mirroring the behavior of his friends. I’d seen this type of behavior once before with another woman whom Martin had befriended at the office. She had a problem with shoplifting, and a few weeks after their burgeoning friendship fell apart (due to a dramatic fight about cat ownership) Martin tearfully admitted that he had stolen a hat and scarf set from the GAP and a pair of sunglasses from Macy’s during their friendship.
    These days Martin was all about Louisa. Although I didn’t think we really looked alike (Martin being gigantic, pale-skinned and red-headed with a beard, and me being bleach-blond and stubbornly California-tanned), Martin was convinced that we were secretly long-lost twins and soul mates.  I liked Martin, but found his constant complaining and general flair for melodrama a little bit off-putting, so even though he pushed me on a weekly basis to “hang out” outside of the office, I usually refused, making up lame excuses. Add the complaining to his penchant for