At Least They're Committed

Stepping into the blistering afternoon at quitting time she triumphantly rips off her blazer and stuffs it over her right arm as she starts down the eight steps to reach the Denver city sidewalk. She looks to her left and right like a good girl so as not to be trampled by human traffic and, lo, to her left she notices a parked car, hood up, being worked on by a man as a woman sits in the driver’s seat reading a magazine. On the third step down, five to go, she freezes.

Her thoughts go like this: Oh, poor person! I wonder if he needs my help? Well, there’s a girl there, if he needed help, TR, I’m sure she’d be helping rather than reading Cosmo. Wait? Is that your boss? (Realize 10 seconds has ticked past by now.) Oh, I think it is! Is it? It is! Dear Lord! He gave a talk today on dress code and here I am standing in my black, spaghetti-strap dress and, like, I am way under-dressed. He hasn’t seen me. Should I put the blazer back on? No that might draw attention! (Another 10 seconds has flown past, as she stands motionless on the step third from the top.) Maybe if I stand perfectly still he won’t notice me. Right, and what, you can, like, stare at them? That’s perfect logic, TR, brilliant. Oh, God, what to do! Do something! For Christ’s sake! It’s not like you’re naked! Walk, TR, walk! (A full 30 seconds have gone by.) MOVE!

Back straightened, five steps down, tossing the blazer over her shoulder, she heads to the bus stop, the hot sun beating down, turning her hair even more blond by the instant.