5:45, 5:50, 6:00, 6:05. The typical sequence of alarms on her iPhone. They are loud enough for the neighbors to hear but she doesn’t give a fuck. Jane loves snoozing. Getting up at XYZ time then realizing she’s got another 15 minutes to sleep is one of the many simple pleasures in her life.
She gets it together, somehow finds a clean(ish) pair of Grey’s Anatomy scrubs in the chaotic pile of clothes on her dresser…right…not in, but on her dresser. She’s been avoiding domestic duties for weeks. Despite her ability to slide in a nap almost every day, she swears 24 hours simply isn’t enough for anyone to get anything done.
A loaf of bread she got at the farmer’s market is on the kitchen counter. 6 bones for a loaf of bread….what a joke. She must have left the bag open. She grabs a slice, shovels in a few spoonfuls of yogurt and dashes out of the door. The bread is chewy….dry….ravished by the overnight air but she’s gonna eat it. The guys at the food truck en route to the hospital know her order by heart, her affinity for ketchup on egg and cheese croissants, and her work schedule. She realizes this is kind of repugnant. No more buying breakfast out…
The elevator is quick this morning. It’s usually a toss up. A door slams as she steps into the rickety black box. Her heart sinks a little. No coffee on board yet, she’s not ready for human interaction at all. Vince is rushing around the corner. Quaffed and wreaking of what smells like Great Value Armani and a drawn out Sunday night Tinder date.
“Happy Monday, Jen.”
“It’s, Jane….have an awesome day, man.”
Where do they make people like this? What the hell is a Happy Monday? How do you botch a one-syllable name? How Sway….how? She darts off the elevator. The door is barely open. It pinches her tote bag and roughly 5 million pens and almonds scatter everywhere…..as with the alarms….she doesn’t fucking care. Her employee badge is still on board, that’s all she really needs. It’s somehow almost 7am…..start of shift…. time to haul ass.