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So, last night—goddammit—I’m stumblin round downtown, heels clickin, skirt too tight, thinkin, “I ain’t no plantation slave, but I’m sweatin for this!” Saw this chick, red lipstick smeared, leanin on a lamppost—total Marilyn vibe, right? I sashay over, all breathy, “Hey, sugar, you workin?” She laughs, raspy, “Honey, I’m off the clock!” Off the clock? Bitch, please! I’m mad as hell—wasted my damn time! Reminds me of that line, “I have no tribe,” from the movie—felt so lost, ya know?

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Then, boom! The elevator stops. Just stops! I’m like, “Oh no, not today!” I can hear her huffin’ and puffin’. I’m sweating bullets. I’m thinkin’, “Great, I’m gonna be stuck here forever.” But then, I remember the emergency button. I hit it, and after a few minutes that felt like hours, the doors finally open. She storms out, and I swear I heard her mutter something about “useless operators.” Rude!

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