Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > This looks like a job for A.
I. Competition is tough and work is dirty
7 reviewsA. is a freelancer in a fast growing business sector. This enables her to get into close contact with Peter Wentz.
4Funny
This looks like a job for A.
I. Competition is tough and work is dirty
A.* hit the button on her alarm clock and turned off the annoying buzzing noise. Reluctantly, she slowly slid out of bed. She stretched and yawned, or maybe it was the other way round, however, her next step was to walk into the little adjoined bathroom to get ready for the day.
After taking a quick shower and brushing her teeth, she went downstairs in casual clothes. Luckily, her job didn't require putting on some lame uniform with a hat resembling a toucan (new "experimental" burger shop down the street) or a conformist two-piece (manager of the new "experimental" burger shop).
Ten minutes later, fueled on Sunny D and funny smelling but still edible pop tarts**, she left the house with a "Bye, Mom! I'm off to work."
-
About half an hour later A. was busy at her work place. Her well-trained hands quickly dissected the various items that were scattered in front of her. It surely wasn't the most challenging job in the world and it had become rather dull after three weeks but, hey, it paid her way through college.
"Ah, just junk today," she muttered under her breath. What she was hoping for was some big catch. The good thing about this job was that A. was self-employed. A freelancer of some sorts, no boss that got on your case because you weren't working hard enough. The business sector was growing rapidly, though, as there was a vast demand for this kind of goods. Unfortunately, new enterprises shot out of the ground like pimples out of the skin of teenagers and Austrians who are actually too old to be still battling them*, flooding the market. Always trying to outdo the competitors by offering the same products for a better price.
A. wouldn't have minded to employ somebody else in her name.** On some days there was really a lot for work to be done. Especially considering that the young woman only had about two to three hours time, she had classes to attend and homework assignments to plagiar- write. However, getting a co-worker would have meant having to share the income and A. lived by one credo: ...
Huh... I think it just escaped me now. But I´m fairly sure it had something along the lines of "gimme", "gimme" and "gimme" in it. Back to Alex... I mean A. Damnit.
Just as she picked out something that looked promising from the pile in front of her, a car came to a halt a few feet away. A fairly good-looking man exited the vehicle and made his way towards her. (That was another pro of A.'s job. She could work in the open nature. What a crappy narrator to forget to point that out.) He set his feet on the pathway that led to the door and flashed her a smile.
"Hey, Pete's creepy stalker girl," he said as he passed her by.
"Morning, Joe," A. replied in a short-spoken fashion, only giving him a quick glance.
He made his way to the door and rang the bell. A few moments later he was admitted by another reasonably handsome fellow. Probably a bit too many tattoos on his bare arms and too much eyeliner under his eyes. And on his cheeks. And his forehead?
Joe entered and grunted amusedly, "Your number one fan is outside again, going through your garbage."
Pete shoved Joe aside and peered past his friend. Upon registering A. in his front yard he yelled, "Get the fuck away from here! Dude, how long is this gonna go on?!"
A. looked up and waved shyly. Then she commenced to attend to her business.
Pete shook his head in defeat and closed the door, "I should really call the police about this psycho chick."
He ruffled his hair and added, "And Mommy's so not gonna be happy about all the garbage strewn across the grass."
______________
* For matters of privacy and personal security the protagonist's name has been shortened to the first letter.
** You can tell this is really fiction for I haven't ever had either of these nutritious goodies, being horribly deprived of America's most important inventions here in Austria. Not that I, at any account, had anything to do with this story...
* Not to mention, too old to still actually bother about them.
** "A." is all you're getting.
I. Competition is tough and work is dirty
A.* hit the button on her alarm clock and turned off the annoying buzzing noise. Reluctantly, she slowly slid out of bed. She stretched and yawned, or maybe it was the other way round, however, her next step was to walk into the little adjoined bathroom to get ready for the day.
After taking a quick shower and brushing her teeth, she went downstairs in casual clothes. Luckily, her job didn't require putting on some lame uniform with a hat resembling a toucan (new "experimental" burger shop down the street) or a conformist two-piece (manager of the new "experimental" burger shop).
Ten minutes later, fueled on Sunny D and funny smelling but still edible pop tarts**, she left the house with a "Bye, Mom! I'm off to work."
-
About half an hour later A. was busy at her work place. Her well-trained hands quickly dissected the various items that were scattered in front of her. It surely wasn't the most challenging job in the world and it had become rather dull after three weeks but, hey, it paid her way through college.
"Ah, just junk today," she muttered under her breath. What she was hoping for was some big catch. The good thing about this job was that A. was self-employed. A freelancer of some sorts, no boss that got on your case because you weren't working hard enough. The business sector was growing rapidly, though, as there was a vast demand for this kind of goods. Unfortunately, new enterprises shot out of the ground like pimples out of the skin of teenagers and Austrians who are actually too old to be still battling them*, flooding the market. Always trying to outdo the competitors by offering the same products for a better price.
A. wouldn't have minded to employ somebody else in her name.** On some days there was really a lot for work to be done. Especially considering that the young woman only had about two to three hours time, she had classes to attend and homework assignments to plagiar- write. However, getting a co-worker would have meant having to share the income and A. lived by one credo: ...
Huh... I think it just escaped me now. But I´m fairly sure it had something along the lines of "gimme", "gimme" and "gimme" in it. Back to Alex... I mean A. Damnit.
Just as she picked out something that looked promising from the pile in front of her, a car came to a halt a few feet away. A fairly good-looking man exited the vehicle and made his way towards her. (That was another pro of A.'s job. She could work in the open nature. What a crappy narrator to forget to point that out.) He set his feet on the pathway that led to the door and flashed her a smile.
"Hey, Pete's creepy stalker girl," he said as he passed her by.
"Morning, Joe," A. replied in a short-spoken fashion, only giving him a quick glance.
He made his way to the door and rang the bell. A few moments later he was admitted by another reasonably handsome fellow. Probably a bit too many tattoos on his bare arms and too much eyeliner under his eyes. And on his cheeks. And his forehead?
Joe entered and grunted amusedly, "Your number one fan is outside again, going through your garbage."
Pete shoved Joe aside and peered past his friend. Upon registering A. in his front yard he yelled, "Get the fuck away from here! Dude, how long is this gonna go on?!"
A. looked up and waved shyly. Then she commenced to attend to her business.
Pete shook his head in defeat and closed the door, "I should really call the police about this psycho chick."
He ruffled his hair and added, "And Mommy's so not gonna be happy about all the garbage strewn across the grass."
______________
* For matters of privacy and personal security the protagonist's name has been shortened to the first letter.
** You can tell this is really fiction for I haven't ever had either of these nutritious goodies, being horribly deprived of America's most important inventions here in Austria. Not that I, at any account, had anything to do with this story...
* Not to mention, too old to still actually bother about them.
** "A." is all you're getting.
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