22-year-old Journalist and Blogger, Betty Cooper, is miserable at her dead-end job of Now Beat! Magazine, where no one really takes her seriously. She's waiting for a response from Time Magazine, but is starting to lose hope.
It isn't until she get...
Tuesday, December 5th, 2017 - Now! Beat Magazine Offices - 9:43 am
Another day, another couple of hours of drudgery and ego in the cesspool that's known as Now! Beat Magazine.
Trying to relieve the tension that's gathering at the base of her neck, a beautiful twenty-year-old woman sat at her desk, irritated with how uninteresting her day is turning out. Staring at horrific article from Fashion Week that's been submitted by Ron, a self-centered, cocky egocentric jerk. Just because he's a full-fledged reporter for the magazine, he thinks he can boss people around. And the ironic part is that he used to be a Junior Editor to the magazine and one of her "former" friends.
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"Get a load of my next piece: 'Ugly Christmas Sweaters of the Stars.' It's gonna be brilliant, I tell you," he said to his friends.
"Excuse me Ron," the woman said.
"Uh not now."
"No, this'll just take a second. I just had a couple of questions about your article, the Fashion Week piece I'm editing," she reminds him.
Ron grew annoyed but let her speak. "Uh...go."
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"Well, see, the thing is that Max wanted three hundred words, and this..." she waved his article for emphasis." ...is six hundred fifty. And one of the designers you quoted wasn't even on the floor, so-"
Ron grew irradiated by this conversation, so he nipped in the bud immediately. "Look, I don't have time for this right now. Just clean it up", he said.
"But, this isn't a cleanup, it's a major rewrite", she tried to make him see sense.
"No , I'm just trying to explain that-"
"Just fix it, okay?" And then, Ron left the floor. Betty stood crushed that her first friend she ever made here is now an asshole who only cares about himself.
"One day," She thought to herself. "One day, I'm gonna make this entire piece of shit of a magazine pay for treating me like some kind of unimportant, insignificant bug they can flick away." Shaking off the horrible encounter, Betty heads back to her seat, and complain about that day.
