The Brenda Diaries

by Margo Candela

  “Are you insane? Move!” I give Jared a hard nudge and he slides over.

  We came in through the back entrance, snaking our way through the kitchen as if we were in a Martin Scorsese movie. I go down a dimly lit hallway toward a door marked with a large red T. As I turn the knob I pray that I’m not about to walk into some massive cocaine-for-weapons deal or sweatshop where people are churning counterfeit Louis Vuitton handbags.

  “Don’t go in there!” a familiar voice calls out. I pull my hand away and look around for the face that belongs to it. “I’m just kidding, Brenda.”

  I give him a quick hug and step away just as fast. “Hi, Cal. What are you doing here?”

  “Blowing all my hard earned temp wages on slutty girls.” He’s talking very fast and can’t stand still. He’s high. “You’re not a slutty girl! Or are you?”

  For some reason (the reason being that he’s high) Cal finds this very funny. He collapses against the wall in a fit of giggles. I nudge him with my foot so he can get out of the way as two drunk girls (or sluts as Cal might see them) stumble toward us in their tiny dresses and high heels.

  “Come back to my table!” Cal tugs at my hand. “You have to meet my friend.”

  “I can’t. I’m here with my friends and we’re leaving. They’re waiting for me. Outside. Okay. So bye.” Another quick hug and I jog back to the table where I find Jared furiously taking notes on his iPhone as Armie whispers into his ear.

  “What the hell is going on?” I ask Maya who is hanging on Armie’s arm as if she’s expecting to be swept overboard.

  “Oh, they’re just talking about business stuff,” Maya says. She’s a bit past tipsy so her words have a faint slur to them. “Isn’t it great that they get along?”

  “Sure. Yeah. Whatever.” I try to catch Jared’s eye as I tug at my ear, but he’s too wrapped up in whatever Armie is telling him to look my way. “We’re going to go.”

  “No!” Maya wails, clutching at me. “We’re going to another club. Don’t go.”

  “I just started my period,” I lie. “And it’s bad. Like double up bad.”

  “Okay, fine. Be that way.” Maya pouts and bats her eyelashes at me, forgetting this doesn’t work on me.

  “I need to get to my laptop and start writing.” Jared looks dazed as I yank him toward the door, ducking behind him as we pass the table where Cal and his friends are sitting.

  Thursday, June 2:

  This is how it starts: First I make a promise that I know I have to keep no matter what and I end up keeping it just because I said I would. That’s all well and good when it comes to, say, helping a friend paint her living room or watching the neighbor’s yappy little dog while she’s getting her boobs done. I do what I said I’d do and everyone is happy, especially me because I get thanked with a Starbucks gift card. But when it comes to promising Boyfriend that I’ll be a better girlfriend, it just doesn’t seem to work out the same way.

  I really tried, too. I made sure to text Jared three times a day. I let him pick where we went out to eat and what position we did it in. And, yes, okay, I did sort of fake a bit to hurry him along, but that’s only because I had a cramp in my foot and needed to rub it without turning the whole thing into some kinky sex thing. Not that Jared is into the weird stuff. Not like Cal, who basically told me that if boning isn’t like a porn movie, it’s just not worth doing. No, Jared likes soy candles, clean sheets, soft music and lots of kissing. You know—old, married people sex.

  Between him and Cal, I’m exhausted. Each one wants something different from me and because I’m a weirdo, I want to give each what he wants. I can’t even talk to Maya about this. She’s in love with Armie and can’t string a sentence together that doesn’t start with “I think I have a bladder infection from too much sex.”

  Cal is being a pain. We’ve hung out a few times and he tries to hold my hand even though I’ve told him I’m not interested. He says I’m being a tease, but the thing is, I think he likes it. If anything he’s a bigger tease than I am. He tells me I’m exactly the kind of girl he wants as a girlfriend and then he talks about the chick he banged the night before and asks if I’ll join them in a threesome.

  What’s embarrassing is I almost said yes before I realized he was just kidding. Okay, mostly kidding. I ended up leaving and driving over to Jared’s. He was so damn happy to see me, it almost made me puke. I let him spoon me and then took him out for breakfast to his favorite diner even though I hate the food there.

  Now I’ve set the bar too high and I didn’t even get a lousy latte out of it.

  Friday, June 3:

  Spending the day at my local library with my laptop and, yes, writing. I’m well aware that I’m dangerously close to becoming one of those jerkwads who have no shame in hogging tables at Starbucks, but at least I’m not writing a screenplay. Yet.

  Saturday, June 4:

  Beyond relieved that Summer called me late Friday with an assignment. Even though it sounds like a drag (lots of data entry and filing work) and she was sketchy on what the company actually does. Work is work and it’s my drug of choice.

  Sunday, June 5:

  I’m putting together my outfits with the same intensity of a sixth grader facing down the first week of middle school. Maybe I need a hobby of some sort?

  Monday, June 6:

  The place I’m working at this week is creepy. No one talks here. From the other side of the office floor, there are occasional murmurs, but otherwise it’s as quiet and cold as a mausoleum in here. Not that I’ve ever been in mausoleum, but if they’re anything like this place I’m definitely sticking with my plan to be cremated.

  Tuesday, June 7:

  My apartment complex has an onsite maintenance guy named Ivan. He lives in one of the two studio apartments and spends his days collecting gossip and making sure the place doesn’t crumble into a heap. He’s about 50 and never married, but every Saturday, dressed in his only suit, he goes to a church mixer in hopes of meeting the right Eastern Orthodox woman.

  “Hello, Brenda.” Ivan is sitting on the walkway between units, a dismantled dishwasher spread around him. “You’re little friend is playing her music too loud.”

  “Sorry about that. She’s just staying with me while she finds a place.” I don’t want to come out and ask Ivan not to mention it to Mr. Papadakis, who owns this place. If Mr. Papadakis finds out, he’ll use it as an excuse to jack up my rent.

  “You’re my pal, Brenda. I wouldn’t sell you down the river.” Ivan is from the Ukraine and learned to speak English by watching movies from the 40s and 50s. He looks down at the bits and pieces, moving a valve from one pile to another. “And tell your friend she should pull the shades if she’s going to be walking around in her skivvies.”

  “Okay, Ivan. I will.” I’m embarrassed for both of us, but not Maya. In college she always carried a white wife beater in her purse just in case a spontaneous wet T-shirt contest broke out. “I hate to ask, but do you think you can come by and take a look at my toilet? It’s doing that thing again. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow?”

  “Will your friend be there?” he asks.

  “I’ll make sure she’s not.” It’s the least I can do for Ivan.

  Wednesday, June 8:

  Cal and I have been texting back and forth. He’s trying to talk me into becoming a groupie for his band and promises I don’t have to sleep with all of them. At once.

  Maya knows something is up. She even half woke up this morning to try to get something out of me before I left for work. That girl can smell a cheater from a mile away—that’s how she finds all her boyfriends.

  Thursday, June 9:

  I’ve made it to day four of my five-day assignment and I’m still not sure what they do or sell here. All I know is that whatever it is they do or sell, no one talks about it. Or talks. Period.

  Sometimes a phone will ring and someone will answer it, but I never hear any talking! What I do hear is someone coughing, sneezing and, I swear, the sound of the
person in the cubicle next to me breathing. It’s that quiet in here.

  Yesterday someone dared clip their fingernails (I’m thinking they didn’t have the rude balls to do their toes) and it was like thunder claps. I’ve never heard anything so loud and gross in my life—and I once went to a frat party.

  I’ve been eating lunch in my car. By the third day, I realized I’d gotten so used to quiet, I wasn’t even listening to the radio and I had the windows rolled up. As for the job itself, there’s lots of filing, some data entry—nothing a fairly smart monkey couldn’t do. This gives my monkey brain time to wander so I’ve made up a two-part game. Part one is called Guess That Noise and part two is Guess Who Made It.

  The chubby guy three cubicles down has a high pitched sneeze, as if he’s pinching his nose when he lets one loose. He must have allergies because he sneezes and blows his nose a lot. Or maybe a coke habit. Right behind me sits a woman who kind of reminds me of my mom except she has a thick, phlegmy smoker’s cough. She pops Ricola all day, which she doesn’t suck like it says to on the package directions; she crunches. To the left is a woman who sighs an average of 15 times an hour and needs to stop teasing her bangs into a pouf. I’m not going to bother trying to figure out who the nail clipper is, but I am assuming it’s a he. I’m sexist.

  This assignment ends tomorrow. I hope they don’t ask me back (even though things have been light with temp assignments and I can’t afford to turn a job down). If they ask, I’m not going to say no. At the same time, I’m going to keep my mouth shut so I don’t have to say yes. All this quiet is messing with my mind.

  Friday, June 10:

  Lunch is my least favorite part of the work day. I’m forced to take a 40 minute break, which for me is too much time to eat and too little time to run errands. I used to work through lunch until my temp agency said I couldn’t because of some dumb law or something. After eating, I have to keep myself busy for 30 minutes until I can go back to work. I find an empty conference room and pull out my Blackberry so I can call my rep at TempOne and harass her for another assignment for the next week.

  “It’s Brenda. You know why I’m calling.” Summer’s married with three kids and another on the way. She doesn’t like her job, but told me it’s easier than staying home and being a full-time mom and housewife. “You got anything juicy for next week?”

  “Lemme check.” Summer chews gum all the time and isn’t quiet about it. “That lawyer called. I told him you were open for next week.”

  “Him. Again.” I roll my eyes and keep them focused on the ceiling until the dots on the tiles start to blur together. “I can’t face it.”

  “He really seems to like you. There has to be something going on between you two.” Summer thinks everyone is having sex with everyone else. “He’s willing to pay at the top of your scale.”

  “Pass.” While I like depositing fat checks into my bank account, I’m not in the mood to be a reluctant dominatrix. “What else is there? Something that doesn’t suck, preferably, but I’m flexible.”

  “It’s really light, Brenda, but….” Summer knows I’ll take just about any assignment. “There’s something in Glendale. Telemarketing. And the pay is not great.”

  It’s a pain in the ass to commute and I’ve never done any telemarketing, but it’s either that or Theo or nothing. “I’ll take it.”

  Saturday, June 11:

  I decided to read in bed and that turned into an almost five hour coma. Worse, I had a green apple Jolly Rancher in my mouth when I fell asleep. I bet I’ve rotted my teeth and will have to get dentures or something.

  My big plans for what’s left of my Saturday are to brush and floss my teeth a lot and be in a bad mood. My toilet is still making weird noises so I have to shut off the water to get any quiet. Then I have to turn it back on to flush it. Maya is fighting with Armie so she’s moping on my couch watching Lifetime lady crack movies.

  Jared wants to come over, but I can’t face another marathon of kissy face and hand holding. There’s only so much PDA one person should be forced to put up with for the sake of not hurting the other person’s feelings. I agreed to go to brunch with him tomorrow so he’s just going to have to find something else to pet to tide him over until then.

  Cal texted. He wants to hang out. Told him I’m in a foul mood, but he likes grouchy girls. I know if I say yes, I won’t be home until right before my brunch date with Boyfriend and I’ll feel worse than I already do. Yeah, no thanks.

  This grouchy girl is staying home and wondering how soon she can go back to sleep.

  Sunday, June 12:

  Oh, happy day. Ivan just told me that Mr. Papadakis has given the okay to replace my janked up toilet. It’s like Christmas has come early, but this time I’m actually getting something I want and can use. Joy!

  Monday, June 13:

  Having broken my no-job-on-the-other-side-of-the-405 rule by taking this telemarketing temp assignment in Glendale, I’m going to swallow my bitching about the hour it took me to drive a dozen or so miles. (It’s a bit more since I got off the freeway and drove around equally clogged surface streets before admitting defeat and making the slow crawl back onto the freeway.)

  And while I’ll admit to having my own deep seated negative feelings about telemarketers, I’m going to do my best to turn around those stereotypes and make the cold calling experience a good one both for me and the person on the other end of the phone line. If anything, I get to learn a new skill (which will go near the top of my resume right under gift bag stuffing).

  Tuesday, June 14:

  Okay, I get it. My landlord, Mr. Papadakis, is old and maybe he or his parents grew up during the Depression (not this one, the other one) and he can’t help being super thrifty. Still, I don’t see how he thinks replacing my toilet with one that’s older and PINKER makes any sort of sense.

  Maya finds this all very hilarious. So funny that she couldn’t keep herself from snapping a pic and sending it to me, along with her compliments on my new “vintage commode.”

  Ivan told Maya he tried to talk Mr. Papadakis out of it, but was told I’d like it because I’m a girl and it’s pink and sometimes I wear pink.

  Jared who, as my boyfriend, is supposed to be on my side texts that he can’t use a pink toilet—it’s “emasculating.” This from a guy who owns The Notebook. On Blu-ray.

  Screw it. I’m going to buy a real new toilet and ask Ivan to install it. Mr. Papadakis doesn’t need to know. If he wants to come visit the vintage one, I’ll make up some reason to keep him out of my apartment. I can’t toss it—I have secret dreams of moving someday—so I’ll have to stash the pink toilet in my parents’ garage or risk losing my security deposit.

  Toilet subterfuge, that’s what my life has come to.

  Wednesday, June 15:

  I’ve never had any desire to join the armed services, but I’ve seen enough movies set in boot camps to be absolutely convinced it’s an absolute miserable experience. Telemarketing is kind of the same thing. It’s physically, emotionally and mentally taxing—without the fresh air.

  For every “No, thank you, we’re not interested” I get 10 a-holes who have been stockpiling their hate to spew in my ear as soon as they find out why I’m interrupting their marathon Divorce Court, Judge Judy and Maury Povich watching. I always suspected people were mean, bitter and spiteful, and this job confirms it.

  Thursday, June 16:

  After almost an entire week of heavy duty customer service (mostly for customers who don’t want to be serviced) I’m not surprised my workdays as a telemarketer have started to mess with my after work life. People are weird in general and when a computer is dialing random 310 area code phone numbers, at least one weirdo was bound to wind up in my ear.

  My last call yesterday lasted a whole 10 minutes and the guy didn’t end up scheduling a free appraisal for the stucco siding on his home. Worse, it took me that long to realize he was jerking off. Then he hung up on me without so much as a thank you.

  I�
��m giving my chipper pitch for stucco siding and that guy is saying, “So does it go on smooth or rough? How rough? Tell me how rough? Can I have half of it done smooth? Real smooth?” I’m as dense as a bucket of stucco.

  So I wasn’t really in the mood to get it on with Jared after that. Of course, when he dangled the offer of Thai food and a new DVD of Pride & Prejudice, I couldn’t say no even though I didn’t quite say yes to sex. I gave him a strong maybe with the intention of saying yes (Pad Thai! Tom Yum Goon! My favorite movie!), but when it came down to it he might as well have been a random 310 computer-dialed phone number.

  Jared was super understanding, but I could tell he was a bit blue in the balls. Since boning was off the table, he wanted to talk instead. So I pounced on him and it was almost as good as my second bowl of Tom Yum Goon.

  Friday, June17:

  I’m guzzling atrocious vending machine coffee as if there’s an answer to my prayers at the bottom of the paper cup. When it comes to temps and horrible assignments, it seems God has other things to deal with.

  Saturday, June 18:

  Even though I’m not in the mood to go to Jared’s ex-girlfriend’s engagement party, at least dressed the part. A very “I don’t care you boned him before me and now you’ve gone on to boning someone who must be better than him because you’re marrying him and not the guy I’m boning who you boned first” dress from, of course, Anthropologie. It might be all the DayQuil I’ve popped for this cold or flu I’ve come down with, but I’m feeling kind of spry about the whole thing.

  Sunday, June 19:

  I seem to have made quite an ass of myself at the engagement party. While I can righteously blame an ill advised mixing of DayQuil and fruity alcoholic drinks, I don’t think Jared’s ex Emily, her fiancée Kurt and, yeah, even Jared are going to give me a pass…like the one I made at Emily’s grandpa.