I ranked them by sender and gauged their importance according to who paid
the greatest percentage of my salary. As I checked the senders, one in
particular jumped out ? firstname.lastname@example.org. ? the subject line read "about
last night." It was Samantha, the secretary. I didn't open the email right
away, I just sat there trying to appreciate the irony of the subject line
and the fact that she sent it the day after her boss terminated our working
relationship. Why was she using her Hotmail account? Why didn't she just
use her corporate one? Personally, I only used my Hotmail account when I
was looking for a job.
I double-clicked and opened it up. There was no message, just an
attachment in a word document. It was entitled "banter.doc". I clicked on
download and got up to pour myself a cup of coffee with just a splash of
milk. I sat down and took a big pull of it. It was hot and it soothed my
throat as the peristalsis worked it down.
The file finished downloading and not knowing what to expect, I began
reading. I figured our "understanding" had been a fašade and she was going
to tear me a new asshole as some scorned women do. Damn, I didn't mean to
hurt her. I really thought we were cool.
I began reading and couldn't believe what I saw. I dropped both my coffee
cup and my jaw onto the floor as I stared in shock at her letter.
"Sam, my wife's out of town tonight. My place, 8:00." ? Roger
"Roger, I don't know, I think she's getting suspicious" ? Samantha
"No she's not. She doesn't suspect anything"
"Seriously Roger, I think maybe we slow this down a little. I mean, I work
"That's right. You do."
It went on like this for fifteen pages. FIFTEEN PAGES!!!! She had kept
every email that he had sent her (of a personal nature) and had compiled a
master document outlining the affair. What an idiot he had been, using
email in the first place as a medium for carrying on an extra-marital
affair with his secretary. Jubilation shuddered through me like an orgasm. And just like that, I had the upper hand.
Hangover gone, clarity of thought regained, composure retained, I picked up
the phone and dialed. Today would be a good day after all. I suddenly felt
"Sam? Shawn here. How are you??"
I told you, it's all about friends.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Justin Shaw is a twenty-five year old public relations professional living and working in Boston, Massachusetts.
Send correspondence toJustin.Shaw@pnicg.com