My bitch, Chad

So I don’t know if this is a good thing or not, but they gave me a designer – Chad. He’s a lanky Gen-X type with a goatee, a chain wallet, and a trust fund. I don’t like hipsters who wear expensive shirts that look like they come from the free clothing box on campus. Anyway, Chad the Designer is a contractor who has been hired to support “the project’s graphic needs.”

Margo stops by my new office and knocks on the door. “How’s it going, Mackenzie? You settling in?”

“Good, good,” I say. “Hey, what’s with Chad? What am I supposed to do with him?”

“He’s a designer,” Margo says. She’s wearing a cute neckerchief and sweater outfit today that makes her look like a Kennedy. “Make him design something.”

“I don’t have shit for him to do yet, not for a couple weeks,” I said.

“That’s okay,” she says smiling. “Make him get your cleaning.”

“The budget for this project is sick, isn’t it?” I say, and by “sick” I mean “huge.”

Margo grins. “Mackenzie, you have no idea. I’ll see you.”

So. I have a “bitch” as they say in prison. I wonder how far I can take this. I dial Chad’s extension on my phone.

“This is Chad.”

“Chad, it’s Connor. Hey, will you grab me a cup of coffee and some aspirin? Thanks pal.”