Another day

by Jennifer Ortega

Here we go again. Another day of endless sexist jokes from the jerk I have to call a boss. I sigh as I open the back door to the toy factory I work at. I’m greeted by the strong smell of paint and loud banging of machines. I greet the ladys {ladies} and head for the locker room to set my things up. As I place my purse and keys inside the locker, I see Richard, my boss, heading towards me with a huge grin on his face.

“Hey tuts {toots?}. Shouldn’t you be in the kitchen making me a sandwich right now?” he says, laughing at his own joke.

He reeks of cologne he must have bought from a cheap store and his breath stunk as if he has not brushed his teeth is {in} ages along with his foul armpit odor, it was no wonder he had no girlfriend because, according to him, natural was a “manly” smell. I shut close my locker and head for my seat in front of the line of toys I need to inspect for sharp objects. The {this?} was run by women-only, with the boss being the only man here, an excuse of a man, actually. As I licked around the toys for inspection, I felt a sharp stab on my index finger, pulling back I see it was bleeding, and a lot. One of the action hero toys had a really sharp sword. After aiding my finger with a band-aid I began smoothing out the sword so as to make it less hazardous. As the hours roll by, the bell rang indicating it was brake {break} time. The ladies gathered around the employee hall to eat whatever they brought with them. After an hour (long break….), our brake {break} was over and all the chitchat dried out as we all hurried back to our stations. My back throbbed terribly as the seat I was on had no back support and after 6 hours of the same position my body started telling out in stress.

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