Straighter than Parallel Parking

≈ t w e l v e ≈

{ Chapter Twelve: The Stereotypical Hypocrite of Anti-Stereotypes }

FIVE MINUTES BEFORE WORK ENDED, Janice met Tiffany. Pro: she was gorgeous, and Janice knew at least one more person than she had before. Con: she really rewrote the bitchiness in the idea of a typical airhead.

If Janice were authorized to address her opinion freely, she would've asked the girl if the hair dye she used affected her brain activity, because if there were any stereotypes available for blonde, dumb, idiotic bimbo's? A Wikipedia page link would've been attached to that label, along with Tiffany's plastic body. And soul.

"The gang asked me to get you. So, you're the new girl?" Tiffany asked, curiosity obvious on her (stupidly gorgeous) face.

"As we've covered for the past minute, yup." Janice replied, already disliking this girl immensely.

She felt as if she were teleported back to school, traveling to meet the snobs that thought they owned the place. These people were controlling and thought they deserved everything. 

Growing up with a mindset that 'you can only deserve what you earn', you could say that Janice didn't want to waste time on people who didn't get that motto. And if there's anything about Janice, even co-workers can't be made exceptions.

"Well, I guess you're not dressed that bad," Tiffany said, and Janice can almost feel the bulging vein on the side of her neck start to throb. "Expected a little more height and oomph, but you'll do."

"Glad to approach your reasonable standards," Janice said sarcastically, before turning her attention to the closing gates of the store. "Now, c'mon, I have to lock up last. Brielle already left, so we might as well go, too."

"Brielle? God, let's not. I can't really deal with her bubbly attitude right now."

Clenching her teeth, Janice decides that having a fist fight with her might not be the smartest thing. 

I might break her knuckles on the girl's rhinoplasty or something, Janice seethes, and whoever did her schnozzle, Tiffany probably should've sued. 

Instead, she flips off the power, watching the lively place dim, the place looking more eerie as a haunted house than any fantasy land.

She didn't even speak until they got to the downstairs parking lot, where Brielle had told her to come before she'd left. Tiffany's (obnoxious) presence followed Janice, which she could only tell from the slight heels clicking the floor, shadowing behind Janice's own rapid steps.

"They're just down the lot." Tiffany told her, and Janice nodded to signify that she understood. They made their way to the empty lot, looking around for the group, until they caught sight of the silhouettes Janice supposes is of the group.

"You going to tell me why you've been silent this entire time?" Tiffany speaks up, catching Janice off guard. "I may not be talkative, but even I can sense awkward pauses." 

It wasn't as if Janice thought that Tiffany was terrible, or at least, that bad (okay lie, she did). It was just the superiority that Tiffany emitted, as if only Tiffany's own standing mattered, which Janice, you could say too quickly, gathered from the comment about Brielle and Janice's clothes Tiffany had said earlier. 

Deciding that she'd humour the girl, her tone is frosty when she replies. "I like Brielle. I like my clothes. I don't take too kind to people who think otherwise, I guess."

Tiffany just let this register, immediately understanding the cold shoulder, especially with what she had been spitting out today. She hadn't expected to feel guilty about her previous brusque comments, because she knows her personality is just as brutally honest as she is. She's never thought about how misinterpreted the things she said could be, as silly as that might sound.