You'd think white slavery would pay better.

I've gotten a bunch of emails recently asking me whatever happened on the haunted hayride with my boss a few weeks ago. Seeing as I'm a lazy house cat, I thought I'd explain once en masse and save myself some trouble and you some curiosity. (I feel like there's a curiosity killed the cat joke I could make here, but I just can't get there.) (That's what she said.)

We all know that I don't do anything all day long. Well, that's not quite true. I breathe air. And drink coffee. And try to teach myself to write left-handed just for funsies. But besides that I don't really do anything. You see, I was hired to do marketing/event planning for my company three months before our market/eventing planning budget was cut by a whopping 80%. This means I can afford to throw a party once a month and serve hot pockets and 40s. The rest of the time I sit here and clip coupons and research ambidextrous training tips.

Boss #1 and Boss #2 are well aware that I have nothing to do all day. Why they haven't layed me off is a giant mystery that I don't like to think too hard about. On the rare occasion they actually come into the office, I just awkwardly shuffle blank pieces of paper around and type numbers into a blank excel spreadsheet while furrowing my brow in an attempt to look deep in concentration. I don't know why I do this. They know I'm not actually doing anything. And I know they know. And they know I know they know. It's like the skydiving scene in Break Point when Keanu Reeves knows Patrick Swayze is trying to kill him and Swayze knows that Keanu knows, and Keanu knows that he knows he knows and they keep switching their parachutes back and forth and it's like, holy shit who'll jump first?! Totally just like that.

Sometimes Boss #1 and Boss #2 like to take advantage of this and ask me to do random shit for them that has nothing to do with my job. For example, I have two responsibilities today: design and assemble Boss #1's best friend's daughter's baby shower invitations and research how to rent-out Fur Nightclub her daughter's 19th birthday party (local side note: LOLZ, right?! Nothing says "I'm turning 19!" like getting shot in the face by a crack dealer.) I'm happy to do this for Boss #1. For all intensive purposes intents and purposes I like Boss #1. Boss #2, however, is a whole other bag of crazy. I do not like the idea of helping her. Boss #2 is a mean old Mexican woman who scares the bejesus out of me. So when she comes into the office and says "grab your purse, we're going for a ride," I grab.

So, I hopped into Boss #2's unmarked white van, fully expecting to get knocked out and wake up in Tijuana hustling to sell chicle. Instead, Boss #2 just talked about her son's baseball camp for 15 minutes until we arrived at an office building in Crystal City, Virginia. Boss #2 then handed me a pad of paper and a pen and instructed me to pretend to take notes. "PRETEND. TO. TAKE. NOTES." I was there to pretend to be her personal assistant. Because, you know, having a personal assistant makes you look like a more impressive businessperson. I really wish I were making this up, but sadly I'm not. And this isn't the first time we've played this game! She's asked me to do this not once, not twice, but thrice before! Three times I've had to sit in on her incredibly long and boring meetings doodling Mrs. Meghan Ben From Ace of Cakes all over my binder. And the best part is that she didn't even take me back to the city when the meeting was over! She was like GOOD LUCK GETTING HOME ESSE! and floored it.

I mean, yeah we were by a metro, but still! If you're going to kidnap me and force me into some weird role-playing game, I'd at least like a ride back to the city. Common courtesy, people.