I was at the forefront of all businesswomen. I changed jobs regularly, but I was always amongst the best in my field.
Some days I was one of the best estate agents. Whilst looking around a posh, snobby woman’s house, apparently to take pictures and help sell it, I ended up in her bathtub, playing with her expensive Bodyshop products.
She had literally every product of each set. I decided if I was as rich as her I’d have all the Bodyshop products too. Just because I could.
I started applying some of the eyeliner, which was more difficult than it sounds because it was in a massive tub. No brush. So I applied it with a finger, right into my eye.
Another product was simply called “Fudge,” and its slogan was, “good enough to eat.” So I did. I ate it. And fair play, it did taste like fudge.
The woman came into the bathroom to see me eating her make-up and bath products.
Needless to say I was fired.
The next job I secured was the head of a crab meat distribution company. They needed my signature on the contract, but I wasn’t sure… there were way too many boxes of live crabs in my garden for me to feel comfortable. We were meant to deliver a box per company… and I had three thousand boxes. And the numbers were still rising. No matter where I went, I was surrounded by box upon box of crustaceans.
I threw down the contract and ran away.
As I was running, I was practically rugby tackled by this huge guy. He was wearing a bloodied butcher’s apron, was bald and dirty. I recognised him instantly. I had already killed him three times.
Clearly my professional businesswoman disguise hadn’t worked, because he was here to try and kill me again.
I didn’t think I’d have a fourth time lucky. He already had his instrument of torture in his hand; a pizza cutter. He started running it over my skin, drawing blood. I started crying.
“You ain’t gonna trick me this time, no Sir.” he muttered, more to himself than me. He listened to my pleas as he carried on cutting up my skin. “Actually,” he grinned, and put the pizza cutter into my hand. “You can cut yourself up.”
I thought he was being stupid again, but I knew I couldn’t do much damage to him with a pizza cutter. He guided my hand, drawing red lines all over my body.
It was lucky that at that moment my PA stumbled across the scene, a box of crabs in his arms. He threw the box at the guy on top of me, who fell over with surprise as he was covered in angry crabs. The crabs began to pinch his skin and he yelped. They didn’t hurt me. They saw me as their queen.