You prop your elbows on the desk and chew aimlessly on your pen.  You squint at the computer monitor in front of you while trying to understand what could have driven you, a normally sane person, to drink a bottle and a half of wine the night before your big interview.

"Kes, you ready?"

You look up.  It's Jazzy, the annoyingly upbeat receptionist.  You feel a loathing like no other as flashes you her Miss. America smile and tosses her hair.

"Yeah, I'm ready to go."

"Mr. Shefford is wating in the boardroom.  Geez, you could use some lipgloss.  Here."

Her perfectly manicured hands are holding a little hot pink tube filled with sparkly strawberry tasting gloss.  Your stomach retches just looking at it.

"I'm ok..." you mumble. 

"Are you hungover?" Jazzy asks, showing genuine shock and dismay.

"Oh course not, just tired and a little stressed."

"Well, you're gonna do great." Affirmed Jazzy, with a the energy of the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleading Squad.

"Thanks."

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