I can't wait to get the f×ck out of here.

My head is already sponging up the damn angry heat of today's Paris morning. And my boss— practically lecturing me about my tardy and lazy problems— isn't helping with my growing headache.

I have my favorite book held lovingly in my arms and a couple of bills for a bottle of the best strawberry milk in the city in my pocket. My feet are warm, happy in my lazy flip-flops. My body, cozy in a white oversized dress shirt along with my favorite worn-out painting jumpers who have seen the best days. And my head, comfy under the sleepy used beret mother sewed for me.

I already planned away this sunny day to be UH-MAZING. It will be spent with me, curled up in my beloved blanket which my grandfather had sewn for the wee lassie that I was, on a shady bench under a lovely old willow tree at the quiet side of the park where I can bathe in the sweet fragrance of August's morning dew and the fresh autumn breeze whistling it's hello.

With the life all around me passing by in such haste, I deserve this. And nothing is going to ruin it. Nothing.

"Miss Samdaughter? Miss Samdaughter, please," my thoughts snapped back to the unpleasant voice of my boss, Mr. Johnny Sunsprings, scowling at my inattentiveness. Yeah well, f×ck you too.

"It's Samson... Sir." I pushed up my glasses as I corrected him. I have always found it rather… impressive how his name was ironically destined for him as he was notorious to be grimacing every day everywhere despite his jolly-natured name.

"Do I look like I care? Now Miss Safetyregulations, listen. I know that you are off duty today," he continued, "and I wouldn't have bothered you if it weren't important but I have no other choice—" he paused.

"Miss Silicovolcanoconiosis, are you with me?"

"Y-yes, Mr. Sunsprings?" My stumbling answer proved his suspicions. Look, don't get me wrong. don't care about him, okay? But I still do want to keep my job, you know. It pays well. And it is also the only one that can tolerate my sleepyheadedness, too.

As if that's even a word.

He probably noticed that I am anywhere but here, in his office, in front of him, in a battered armchair, cross-legged and poised like the good girl I am, but not that good as you can see, I am spacing out in the middle of this gruff being's confusion and embarrassment of needing me but not wanting to.

He sighed, "Look, Miss Salamander-"

"Samson."

He waved a hand in dismissal, "Whatever. As I was saying, you are the only Alpha Team journalist left as the rest are on reasonable leaves."

'B'tch, I am also on a reasonable leave,' I thought to myself but I so wanted to spit that out at him like poison. But of course, like a queen, I always stays true to my lifetime advocacy and that happens to be to spread class.

"I need you to be mentally and physically prepared for tonight's press con." Johnny Sins— oops! I mean Johnny Sunsprings pleaded in an annoyed tone. Wait—

I know where this is going…

"Come. On. Time."

Aaannnnddd there it is! As soon as he stressed those words out, I understood why I was still sitting here in hell for the past few hours. Though I want to forgive the old man in his late fifties and lanky frame for wasting my time and give him a chance, but I really do hate wasting my time. And especially diligently dislike others wasting my time. Please note the words 'diligently dislike' for I am far too classy fo use the word hate. Remember, spread class.

And like the classy b'tch that I am, I did give him a chance and just paid him a quarter of my very precious attention and interest like how a good girl taught by her angelic mother should.

"Tonight's event is really big. As in really, really big! In fact it's HUGE—" he gave emphasis by forming a bomb explosion with both his ancient hands which made him look pathetic, "and is very, very important. We need this. And we can only get it if you actively participate."

I nodded. I didn't understand him— I refuse to, to anybody. I just nodded for the sake of the glorious cloudy day that I don't want to waste by rotting inside this deserted, dust-factory excuse of an office.

"I understand Mr. Sunsprings," ooh, smooth lie. "I promise to do my best—" as far as best is defined by a couch potato— "And I sincerely apologize for causing you all this concern and distress."

I finished the act off with a small smile to which he exhaled in relief. And for a moment, his tough demeanor looked older. "Thank you, Miss Alligator Schadenfreudeschallovschky—"

What the f×ck?

"I'm sorry— what?"

Okay. I may not understand a lot of things; like the fact that my boss for three years now is infamous for his memory. Desperately trying to at least remember names but always failing terribly. Horribly. But it's not because I can't. It's just that I don't want to. I see it as a waste of effort.

But Alligator Schadenfreudeschallovschky? I mean– really?

"It's Asteria, Sir. As-ter-ya Sam-son." I even demonstrated how to speak my name like how a mother would try to teach 'mama' to a stupid couple-months-old baby. With bulging puppy eyes and gross attempts at baby talk. But then again, like all the other previous corrections bestowed upon him, this too, fell on deaf ears.

"I'll send you the details via email immediately. And pardon me for the rush in such short notice." Oh, you should be. You cost me three hours of my day off, you f×ckinginang scoundrel! But instead, I shrugged off his apology and offered him a small smile. Good girl, remember?

"I trust that you will go over them and study the details?" He looked hopeful. He actually looked hopeful. And again, "Of course, Mr. Sunsprings. It would be shameful of me and to the whole world of efficient journalism to not review such crucial information."

I rose from my seat and almost fell over as both my butt and back went numb from all the sitting but I still managed to keep my poise and grace cuz that's how my mama raised me. "If that would be all Sir, may I now be excused?" He pondered for a moment which was approximately about two-to-three seconds— at opo, nagbilang po ako

and yes, I counted

— and said, "Yes, that would be all, Miss Saxophone. You may go now."

It took me three very deep breaths to just ignore his awful memory and carry on with life as what we are all supposed to do.

'Mama mo, saxophone!

Your mother, saxophone!

'

"Thank you, Sir." I gracefully hurried towards the door. Heart already starving for the pure bliss awaiting on that shadowed bench. B'tchy yet classy. Yes, I exist.

As I took hold of the rusty doorknob that doesn't-even-live-up-to-it's-purpose, I heard Mr. Sunsprings shout, "Thanks again, Miss-"

"YES, SIR! HAVE A BEEEE–YOU–TIFUL DAY!" I yelled in response to stop him just in time from mocking my mother's name. Again.

I can't even fathom how creative he is in coming up of stupid substitute names and never being able to say the correct one even if it's only by sheer luck.

"Tsk, pathetic genius."