The 24 Year Old Project

Most people have a shady relationship with the truth and common decency.

Wow, that took a weird turn to a cabin in the woods (I enjoyed that B-movie). At least you somehow understand me now. Question: would it hurt if we have these slight cracks on the 4th Wall every once in a while in MY story? I mean, y'all enjoyed that sort of thing with Deadpool (love that guy). It's healthy, trust me. I'm not a psycho; not even close to being that interesting, but no one's actually stopping you from reading on despite that fact. Keep moving, I say. Going back...

Joyce insisted that we go back to the office to do the work inefficiently done by the new-hire interns. Exciting? Not really. To be honest, I just want to find out how Joyce works in an entirely different environment and system. Is she going be hesitant to get her hands dirty? I mean, tons of paperwork can seem like hard labor sometimes. Sure, we're still stuck in traffic and doing something different once we arrive might seem like a vacation for her, but a lot can happen from here and now and later. I can't even put an estimate on our arrival time, but I'm pretty sure we'll get there before the office closes... that's 'coz I'm the one responsible for locking all the doors and making sure electrical sockets are clear.

"You don't have a girlfriend, do you?" Joyce asked.

"I don't." I'm still trying to keep my cool, to be honest.

"Can I ask why?"

"I don't know. Might not be the right time or situation for me."

"What? You're a decent guy with a decent job, why won't it be the right time?" This time around, it feels like an interview for a blog piece she's writing.

"I'm not exactly a catch," I replied even though it's taking a lot focus for me to stay guarded and practicing defensive driving, "and my job is not that glamorous as you might think."

"You work for my grandfather. My granddad is a music producer and the owner of his label. How is that not glamorous?" she said, seemingly excited of the info she just gave me.

"Oh--" and I was about to say something clever, but she interrupted.

"And don't believe the hype. Not all girls worry about a man's appearance. Maybe just his capability to live responsibly, but not even I don't worry about that."

"Look Joyce, you're an heiress. If you don't mind me speaking candidly, you don't have to worry about any of those things." I'm starting to lose my cool.

"That's not the point—" she said, as I was about to cash in on my turn to interrupt even if she wasn't about to say something clever.

"My point is, I don't believe in the 'princess meets servant and they fall in love' sort of tale. If you're about to tell me that I can be with any girl I want, save it." Now, I didn't exactly shout at her, but the volume of my voice was enough for the words to echo around my car. "If you're about to ask if a girl hurt me before, you're just pointing out the obvious and it doesn't make you a professional," I continued on even though she was, I think, offended by the things I said.

"I don't live a fairy tale life, Joyce. I have shitty job that I feel like I have to quit if I want change. Your granddad doesn't pay me enough to be his slave for 15 hours a day; just because my skin is closer to Samuel L. Jackson than DiCaprio doesn't mean I'm Stephen to his Calvin Candie! And even that black dude got a better treatment than I ever did with Boss Chuck!" I stopped the car, hit the emergency lights, and breathed deeply. I had a cap on my emotions ever since I got the job to be Charles Lee's assistant. I did not mean to spew out racist comments to Joyce, but at least it wasn't a chink-related remark (oh, boy).

"You've been holding that in for quite a while, huh?" she said. I was surprised that she wasn't pissed off at me; that she wasn't thinking about slapping me. "Honestly, I was seconds away from slapping you square on your jaw, but your references were gold. I honestly did not know you had it in you."