Deer in the City

Back to the Drawing Board! Oh Wait, I Meant My Apartment!

Day Two

10:40 AM

After I was arrested, I was taken to one of the several courthouses they have in this city. Thankfully, the judge was kind enough to let me out of jail, but told me I had to clean my own apartment as punishment for committing the following crimes: slapping an employee of a residential business, yelling at a manager of a residential business, calling the same manager "Dorothy", and being of rude composure. I really need to go to the city's law library and read the laws so I don't screw up unintentionally in another situation.

But I'll say it once more: I have to clean my OWN apartment! That's insane! I complained about the apartment so often on my first day because the apartment EMPLOYEES didn't clean it before I moved in! I'm getting cheated out of my money and time! I might even have a bad reputation in this city just because I was in a meaningless (meaningful to the city) skirmish yesterday! I was let out today after my trial. My new boss picked me up from the courthouse. We were traveling to my apartment complex in his muddy and dusty jalopy, which he named Dusty.

"So why'd you slap an apartment employee, Francine?" inquired my boss, a stout, brown-bearded man who was probably 40 years old and had the breath of a frog. I have never smelled a frog's breath, but I would imagine that it smells fishy and nasty because frogs are fishy animals and eat bugs, which are nasty.

"I dunno. I just did." I riposted, glancing at my feet while sitting in the passenger's seat of his car.

"You JUST DID?! That's NO excuse to go WHAPPING employees of other companies aside the head! You know how much time they put into making those apartments?" my boss, Mr. Wright, pardon the pun, scolded me.

"They don't even CLEAN the apartments! My apartment is a junkyard!" I snapped at him without hesitation.

Mr. Wright simply glared at the car in front of him; we were at a traffic light that was bright red. He furrowed his brows.

"Why didn't you just ask the employee without SLAPPING him?!" He almost roared like a bear that had been robbed of its berries.

"I don't KNOW!" I retorted, frustrated about the whole situation I had been in.

"You don't KNOW?!" Mr. Wright snarled. "You don't KNOW?! That's impossible! You can't NOT know why you slapped someone and stormed past him to go to the manager to complain about your grubby apartment when you could have just KINDLY asked the employee to clean it!" His face was getting even redder.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore!" I growled back at him, crossing my arms and staring out the window.

We stayed silent after that argument until we reached the apartment complex. How did I wind up with such a difficult boss? Another question: How would I deal with him at work when I couldn't even deal with him outside of work?