"This sucks so much."
You whispered those words as you pulled a few loose strands of hair behind your ears. Satisfied, you turned on the tap and began washing your hands.
You were gorgeous. You weren't being arrogant, just honest. Your bright blonde hair shone like the sun, and bounced down to the middle of your back. Your blue eyes seemed to glimmer, and your sister had often said your smile could stop and start wars. You were a little on the tall side, standing at 5'11" and three-quarters. Frankly, the only person taller then you in your family was your Dad.
However, it was your body that really drew the eye. You had wide hips and a round bubble butt, and long, lean legs that went all the way up. All that said, though, it was your breasts that commanded all the attention. You'd been a cheerleader from middle school through college, but if you were honest, at a G cup, you were rather too busty to excel at the role. You'd only managed to do all you had through hard work and a sports bra made of titanium, and even so, usually felt barely adequate.
Your good looks were as much a blessing as a curse, however. You were an intelligent, driven young woman, and you worked insanely hard at everything you did. You spoke French and Russian, could balance the books in your head without a calculator, and seemed able to function without sleep. And yet, what was the first thing people thought when they saw you?
"Just another brain dead Valley girl bimbo. Yo, Tits McGee, the strip club's down the street. Not now, Sweetie, the adults are talking. The boss clearly hired her for one thing only, if you know what I mean."
You still remembered when the interviewer called out "Susan Hobs." As you'd stood up, his jaw physically dropped open. You were wearing a black turtle neck, yet you could feel his eyes running all over your body. He'd barely asked you any questions before leading you back to the waiting room, loudly announcing to everyone present that you'd gotten the job.
That one heavy woman in the corner looked particularly pissed, and she was the cause of your recent troubles. As it turned out, she was the daughter of Heather Rand, the whale in charge of payroll. She was unquestionably the fattest woman you've ever seen outside of TV, but that did nothing to detract from her naturally fearsome nature. She ruled her department with an iron fist, and even the bosses stepped around her with exceptional care.
And she clearly had it out for you.
It was obvious she blamed you for her daughter not being hired, and had spent much of the past week making your life a living hell. Endless trips for coffee and doughnuts, blaming you for everything from misfiled paperwork to Global warming, countless jabs about how you got this job, wink-wink, etc.
"This has to stop," you thought as you dried your hands and exited the bathroom. Miss Rand had called you to her office, so perhaps finally you could put an end to this needless bullying. And if it continued, well, you'd think of something. You always did.
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