I was mouthy again, and Lead Handler was not happy. He demands I call him Lead Handler, Sir. Sometimes I forget, but I often call him by some variant on purpose because I know he'll send me off to one of his business partners. I was in a defiant mood yesterday when I called him Sir. I wanted so badly to be away from him if only for a few hours. I did not know who he would send me to, but Mr. J was not my first choice.
Mr. J is a wealthy man, but he is not self-made as he'd like you to believe. His grandfather built his business from the ground up, and by the time he died, it was a thriving multimillion-dollar manufacturing company. He doesn't know that I knew his grandfather, a kind soul with a heart of gold. His grandfather told me many stories of living in poverty and how he felt when he made his first sale. Mr. J didn't do shit.
Everything was handed to him, and now that included me. The room was dark and smelled of body odor. I saw him as I walked past the chair. There sat Mr. J, the "silver platter" man with his greasy hair and obnoxious ego. It nauseates me to look at him. It always did, but now I must give him something I like to share with only with one man; my body.