Prologue:
Fingers typing…they were typing. Now they sat idle. A new video scrolled across the secondary screen of the computer, robbing any chance of Bianca maintaining attention on the job at hand.
"10 WAYS TO KNOW YOUR MAN IS A BROKE BOY!" The video screamed out into her Beats-by-Dre headphones. She was alone at home, enjoying the wonderful chance to continue clocking in and handling her workplace responsibilities without having to commute. Perhaps the only joy to come from the beginning of the COVID 19 Pandemic. Still at home, while the "essential workers" are actually still roaming about the world, while she was stuck in her overpriced tiny apartment, hammering away on those worn-out keys. Sure she has videos on to keep her company as she worked, and to provide idle chit chat to occupy the background of her mind while she checked over her tasks, putting the final editing touch on a brand new edition of the commissioned company policy manual for Fuchsia Frontiers International.
Editing and proofreading is by the very design, tedious, even monotonous…Hell it can be downright boring if the one editing is chained to a project that lacks any real passion; and nothing lacks any more passion than the company policy manual of a large corporation. Page upon page of heartless lawyer-talk without anything actually being said, much like the majority of reality television, but with less makeup and gasping. Oh, and don't forget the facial expressions! Can't forget those facial expressions…Oh wait…
They all had 30 Botox injections this season…
So forget the facial expressions.
"Ahh Girl, I know I know when a man out there is a Bona Fide Broke Boy!" Bianca enjoyed working from home. Back in the office when she wanted to watch videos at work, she had to take a lunch break, a smoking break, an extended potty-break, a snack break, or a mental health break. At home, she could just leave the videos open all day. NO! It doesn't interfere with her work! HOW DARE YOU INSINUATE THAT!
"Number 10, If he taken you to the Cheesecake Factory." The video sounded. The chirp of a smoke detector in the video background interrupted the speaker's countdown rolling through the essential list that every woman in the dating market needed to know….not that there was much dating happening while under lockdown, especially in New York City.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Random things like "not having a watch" or "he doesn't ask for desert," were of the remaining critiques. Bianca smiled as the list continued going out, each point of order being less introspective of an individual's personality and more a generalized presupposition of mundane events that can occur in the early days of courtship. Bianca nodded her head in agreement and bit down on her decimated piece of gum she has been chewing for the last three hours. She was fully engaged. Fully. Her hand was still on the mouse, her fingers still on the keys, but her eyes were on the Youtube video.
"Number 1." The countdown reaches the zenith of this masterpiece of modern anthropology. "If he not willin' to pay for all yo friends you brought with you, then queen, you messing with-a Broke Boy." Snaps rang out from Bianca's hands in affirmation. One to the right, one to the left. One over her head, entangling her grotesquely large nail extensions that collide with her keys a quarter second before her finger does, into her exposed Ethernet cable.
SPLOOSH!
Don't worry. Nothing important happened. That was just sound of unplanned movement from Bianca's open soda bottle, a modest 2-liter of Diet Pepsi.
"DAMN GIRL!" She sounded while noticing the mess on her rug and house shoes. "Third time this week." She stared down at the pooling liquid, then turned back to the computer, the video still running through her mind. All the times she had been to Cheesecake Factory, and last time a friend that showed up uninvited on a date and had to pay for her own meal afresh in the mind of the editor. She had to comment. She needed to comment.
Click. Click. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
"Slay Queen" Enter.
She closed the video. Remembered the pool of Pepsi on the floor and grabs a dirty towel to sop up the mess.
Work was due in 25 minutes. THE DEADLINE! She had gotten side tracked again and forgotten the deadline. But she worked hard today, and checked over 60 pages of the remaining 100 in the policy manual. Bianca had been an editor and proofreader for over 20 months now. She didn't need to email her boss and ask for extra time. No! This policy manual will never be read by anyone anyway. What harm could it do to submit it as is? Just this one time.
She turned the 2-liter skyward, draining the remaining contents inside. It wasn't Vodka, but it was something liquid, and right now she needed courage, liquid courage.
Save File. Open Email. Attach. Send.
Another day. Another project completed by Bianca Strong. She smiled. She gave herself a big self-hug.
An hour rolled by. Bianca knew the world of the internet, and with the lockdowns still in place, the comment section was something that makes getting up easier for her. She knew it has only been an hour, but she wanted to, no, needed to see how many likes and replies her comment had.
"Huh?" She stared at the screen, scrolling through the comment section. "Where is my comment at?"
