for four more years

Krissy called. Said she’ll take half of the day for her medical check-up, or the rest of the day, depending on how she’ll fare with the queue of people availing of our health card services. Knowing her, the rest of the staff thinks her declaration of the possibility of her not showing up for work is just a ploy to catch the rest of us in our weakest and most vulnerable (not in our desks, at the other offices catching up with the latest juicy news bout Manny and Krista, or slipping out to a nearby mall to do a bit of Christmas shopping); but we know better than to fall for that. Earlier this morning, her assistant sent me an sms informing me he can’t go to work, and left me quite a long list of things to accomplish before the queen arrives (I’m to be assistant number two in the event assistant number one doesn’t show up—that’s her topmost instruction; break that commandment and you’ll see the red sea part for the second time). Checklist done. Now all I have to do is wait; wait and pray that I do everything to the letter; whatever she requests me to do, never showing an inch of sarcasm at her sometimes irrational, over-the-top orders, or a quizzical look that will make me look dumb in her eyes. In other words, be perfect for half of the day. Having just finished patching up a recent “episode” between us, the pressure’s all the more imminent. If not for the perks I get from this splendid address, I would have gone and packed my bags a long time. But as others in the office kept saying, one just has to endure her for four more years—four more years then we party all we want.