Note: The idea for this letter came from my very dear friend, Satan M.D.
Dear Latina Janitorial Staff at Every Corporate Job I’ve Ever Had,
Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Your judgement is wrapped so completely in apathetic boredom that it appears nonexistent but I know it’s there. I know that behind those half-lidded eyes, that gum-chewing maw, those pink Gumy Reggaeton-blasting earbuds, beneath that messy bun of hip length, gloriously lustrous and full-bodied brown hair, deep inside that cranium, you’re judging me. You’re seeing that I’m still working at 6:45 p.m. and you’re thinking, “This perra must suck at her job.”
So now I’m informing you that, on behalf of every corporate employee ever, I don’t appreciate it.
You don’t know me. Maybe I’m so dedicated to my team, my job and my impending promotion that I work twelve hours a day, sacrificing all personal needs and any shred of remaining social life. Or more realistically, maybe I spent half the day sexting that random bartender I finally heard back from and now I’m playing catch-up. Either way, there are important things afoot and I would like to attend to them sans judgment. Continue reading