Colombia

Anyhow, our maiden was not a very comely girl.  She had frizzy hair that was always a mess, and she wore thick glasses because she had poor vision.  The only reason she was ever even hired in the lounge where she worked as a cocktail server was because the GM had just fired a handful of people and needed help right away.  She was lucky she stumbled upon that Craigslist add when she did, because she had no money left in her savings account and was nearly starving to death- surviving on only a bag of frozen peas and a loaf of bread a week.  Sick of having to call home crying and asking her parents for money, she would rather starve to death and continue on in her job search suffering in silence and to the unawareness of those close to her.  She was at her wits end and contemplating suicide the day she found that ad on craigslist… “HELP WANTED ASAP: Needed: cocktail servers, bussers, hosts, and waitstaff- send resume and headshot to _____.  Open interviews on December 5th.”  Well, even though our maiden, Isadora, was homely as hell, she was blessed to at least be fairly photogenic, and so, she sent out her resume and headshot and was called for an interview later that day.

The rest is history.

She was happy to finally have a source of income, however, she quickly began to despise her co-workers.  They were all lazy as fuck, and mocked her for her frizzy hair and nerdy appearance, which was a sharp contrast to their own, well-put-together and polished look.  They made her do all the dirty work- candles, wiping down tables, and staying late to do inventory.  Her boss was an asshole in every sense of the word, and always gave the best customers and clients to the pretty girls- the girls with longer legs, and smooth, shiny, brunette hair.  Poor Isadora was left in the dust and constantly scolded for the mistakes of her coworkers.  If the glasses weren’t properly polished she was threatened to be fired.  If a customer walked out without paying the tab, she was forced to pay it out of her own pocket. Things became increasingly worse when she started to be bullied.  She never knew that it was even possible for an adult to feel bullied by fellow adults in the work place, but suddenly she started to get anxiety everytime she had to go into her shift, because the other girls would ridicule what she was wearing and purposely make messes that they refused to clean up and knew that she eventually would take care of out of fear of losing her job at their hands.

The final straw came when she was closing down the side station at the end of the bar one night, and caught sight of two of her fellow coworkers doing shots with one of the assistant managers.  They were sitting at a table, with a bottle of Jameson and several wine glasses, enjoying themselves and flirting with the manager, as she was windex-ing and scrubbing the ever-living-shit out of the countertop.  When they noticed that she saw them, Ashley, the prettier and bitchier of the two, shouted from across the room, “Don’t forget to take care of the coffee in the kitchen!  Oh, and can you please cover my shift tomorrow?  I’m going to Tao with all the other girls.”  Isadore really didn’t know what to say- she was ready to blow.  She put down the windex and the rag she was cleaning with and walked straight to the office where she knew the other manager would be counting the end of the night cash.  She knocked on the door before she entered.  He swivled around in his seat to look at her.  He was a weasley looking man- he had a long, sharp nose, squinted dark eyes, thin lips, and black hair that was always parted on one side and looked as though he had doused it in black boot polish.  “Yes?” he said abruptly.  “I really need to talk to you about the other girls,” Isadora said in a wavering voice.  She was on the verge of homicide but holding back all of her frustration and fury was also making her tear up since she was restraining herself from shouting all she wanted to shout.  Before Isadore could even begin to spill all of what was happening, Dave, her manager, cut her off and said, “Listen, Issy, you’re only here because you are willing to do the shit none of the other girls will do.  The other girls are our money makers- clients come to see them and spend money at their tables.  YOU, on the other hand, are here because no one else is willing to properly clean at the end of the night or work on the week nights when the other girls refuse to work because no one is drinking or throwing down money for bottles.  Be lucky that you even have a job with us.”

The hot tears began to flow from her eyes- her face hot with indignation and fury.  Her throat was tight and though she had a million things lined up in her mind that she wanted to shout at him, nothing could escape her mouth- she was having trouble even breathing at this point.  She said nothing and walked out.  She walked past the table where the two other girls were now doing yet another shot with the floor manager, and one of them shouted after her upon noticing her tears, “Aw, boo hoo… little Issy is upset because she can’t work on Saturday nights and isn’t invited to Tao with us tomorrow.”  Isadora, started to run at this point.  She ran down the stairs, her face red and her eyes welled up with tears.  She could taste the salt that ran down her cheeks and touched her lips as she threw the doors at the bottom of the stairwell open and bolted out into the night air.  She hailed a cab because there was no way she could handle public transit in this state, and as soon as she climbed into the back of the car, she let go completely.  She was openly weeping when the Pakistani driver chimed in “Miss, miss, you not going to throw up in my cab are you??”  She weeped harder.  If she was pretty like the other girls, he would be asking her what dumb man broke her heart, but instead, all he cared about was the safety of his car upholstry.  “Pull over! I’m getting out here and walking home!” she said.  He pulled over.  She jammed two fingers down her throat until she started dry-heaving.  She forced herself to vomit up the family meal she had had at the beginning of her shift, and proceeded to projectile vomit in his car before she slammed the door, flipped him off through the passenger-side window, a sly smile on her face, and then bolted down the street.  before slipping out of sight between two buildings.  “Stupid FUCK!” she screamed to no one and anyone who might have been walking past.  She decided to walk home, even though home for her was a different borough.  She needed to blow off this negative energy and years of pent up aggression towards the world that treated her like shit, simply because she wasn’t hot.

As she walked across the bridge, alone, still crying, she thought that she might actually like to be approached by some deviant on this particular evening.  She just hoped that some other fucking asshole might say the wrong thing or come at her and give her a chance to take out her rage upon him.  She wanted the chance to beat the ever living shit out of someone tonight.  After she made it safely home, two hours later, she went straight to her bathroom cupboard where she kept a small vile of Ketamine that she had found one night at work.  She was saving it for an occasion such as this.  She fully intended to end her life that night.  All of the years of feeling like Cinderella, the Cinderella who hasn’t yet had a chance to go to the Ball and meet her prince, she decided she couldn’t possibly go on.  She blew the entire contents of the bag, alternating between both nostrils, and then poured herself a glass of wine.  She sat down and once again burst into tears and tried to call home, but no one picked up.   As she began to drift into a deep K-hole, her thoughts focused around the years spent being bullied in school and always doing work for her incompetent and lazy peers.

She was always the one that did the brunt work of every school project so the team could get an A… she was always the one that was bullied into letting her less-smart classmates copy her Algebra homework.  She was always the one chosen last for the teams in Gym class, always the girl who never had a date or a boyfriend to accompany her to the school dances or proms.  She was the quiet, little mouse that no one seemingly gave two fucks about, except to pick on how smart she was, or how quiet she was.  She began to wonder how her life might have been different if she were beautiful like a model… if she were tall, and leggy, with a slender frame, and shiny hair, and full lips, and a button nose, and sharp cheekbones and almond eyes, she would be loved.  She would be the girl who got to carry bottles of champagne to the tables on Saturday nights and walk away with $600.  She would be the girl that every guy hit on and wanted to date.  She would be the girl standing outside Tao, in an Herve Leger dress and a Chanel bag.  She would be happy.

Well, Isadora, by some miracle, survived the night.  When she awoke the next morning, there was vomit on the couch and vomit on the floor.  She had 10 missed calls from her parents, and a headache like she had never experienced before.  She was still in a kind of drugged out haze, and hatched a plan to run away.  If she wasn’t going to make it in this city, she was going to leave behind the life, the people, and the struggle she knew.  She was going to start over and risk everything.  And by everything, she really had nothing to lose.  She had no boyfriend, no real friends, no obligations except her shit job that just barely paid her rent and student loans…. she felt more free just thinking of running away.  That’s when she decided she was going to go to… COLOMBIA.

Yes, Colombia… that seemed like the best option to her considering her back up plan was always to strike it rich with some drug lord and spend her days blowing lines in a private Cabana and sipping champagne.  And so, she hopped online and purchased a ticket, and booked two weeks at a little cabin she found on airbnb.  She called her parents and lied so as to prevent them from worrying, saying that a girlfriend had invited her to a vacation home in the mountains and she wouldn’t have very good cell service for a week.  She packed a small, carry on bag with the essentials, and the next morning made her way to JFK to embark on her new life.

When she arrived, she found a car who was willing to drive her to her rental in the countryside.  She knew absolutely nothing of the culture or language, but thanked him nevertheless and after she had settled into the quaint house, she decided to bike to the local village and secure some sort of job.  She was hired on the spot at an American-owned bar and restaurant.  She got very lucky indeed to have found the only other American residents of the entire community so close to where she was staying.  And so it was that Isadora settled into her new daily routine.  She loved the little bar where she worked.  The locals were friendly and all of the men seemed to find her attractive and loved to flirt with her in their heavily accented English.  She was aware they probably only found her to be attractive because she stood out with her hair and blue eyes, the local women were much more beautiful than her, but she didn’t care attention was attention.  One evening when she was about to close up, a handsome man walked into the bar, followed by three other men, all of whom were surprisingly well-dressed for this small town.  She stopped with her closing tasks and took their drink order.  As she continued to wipe down the bar and prepare for close, she noticed the handome man staring at her.  After the men had had a few rounds of Tequila, he approached her.  He had impeccable English, and was very smooth in his mannerisms and with his approach.  He invited her on a date, and though she was skeptical, she consented.  She had only been on a few dates in her life, and most of them had ended very badly.

FAST FORWARD TWO YEARS…

Isadora is finally living the Cinderella ‘after’ the Ball life.  She is now married to the handsome man from the bar… his name is Andres Escobar, and he is an internationally known drug lord.   He has paid for Isadora to have breast implants, a personal trainer, and a personal hair stylist.  Isadora has ditched the glasses in favor of contact lenses, and her uncontrollable fro of hair is now smooth and usually worn up in a chic bun, to show off the face that has also been cosmetically enhanced.  She got the works- big, white veneers, collagen to boost her cheeks, lip implants, and a nose job… the kind of nose job that every Long Island jewess growing up in the 70s got when she turned 16.  A little bunny, ski-slope, all cute and small in the middle of her face.  Isadora basically looks like a clone of all the bitches she used to work with at the club, and now, she has started acting like them too- she does blow daily, is spoiled by her husband (even though she has to turn her back to his man-whoring, cheating ways- she thinks that it’s worth it in return for the furs, diamonds, Birkens and vacations he buys her), drinks champagne every night at all of the upscale restaurants she is chauffered to in their private plane, and acts like she is superior to all of the warm-hearted townspeople that initially were the sole reason she came to fall in love with Colombia in the first place.

One day, as she is blowing lines in the cabana over-looking the magnificent pool in back of the mansion he bought her, she looks up to see him entering the court-yard followed by a tall, slender brunette who looks like she is all of 20 years old.  “Andres!” she shouts, “Come here please, I need to have a talk with you about the new maid you hired.”  Her husband kisses the girl on the cheek and the girl walks away and climbs into a black town car that is waiting to carry her away.  As Andres approaches the cabana, Isadora removes her Chanel sunglass to look at him.  Her pupils are like pinpoints and her eyes are red from doing blow all afternoon.  She has also had one-too-many glasses of Cristal and is ever-so-slightly slurring her words.  “Baby, what did I tell you about the help?” Andres begins… “you know that as the man of the house, I make the decisions about who we bring in to work for us.”  “You slimy, whoring mother-fucker!!!!” Isadora yells, “I have been turning a blind eye to your affairs since the fucking day that I met you- I won’t fucking put up with it anymore!”  “You think you can treat me like this?!  Just because you buy me shit and take me places, you think that I have to put up with ..” Andres slaps her hard across the face before she can finish her sentence.  Isadora is stunned- her mouth agape as her own hand rises to touch the white-hot area of skin where her husband’s hand was a moment prior.

As her eyes begin to well up with hot tears, she slowly turns back to face him.  Her voice is calm and in her blue eyes, it is easy to see a fire slowly building up.  She raises her champagne glass as though she is about to take a sip and instead hurls it to the ground.  She quickly bends over and does another line that she had cut and waiting on the mirrored table below.  She slowly lifts her head and looks her husband dead in the eye.  He usually seems unmoved by her attempts to put him into what she sees as his ‘place,’ however, this time, there is a fear slowly building inside of him as he ascertains her level of rage.  “Baby, please, I didn’t mean to..” “SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU COCK SUCKING MOTHER FUCKER!!!!” She shouts as she stands up to face him.  She climbs on top of the white, leather chaise-lounge where she had been sitting.  The two girls that Andres has hired as ‘pool attendants/waitaff’ that have been going about their business tidying up the courtyard/outdoor bar area are now looking at the scene unfolding in the cabana.  “Now, baby, please, please… just take a seat, what are you doing???? You’re just making yourself look like a fool in front of the waitstaff.”  “I’ll fucking kill you and them.  Is that what you want?  It is, isn’t it????”  Isadore has a manical smile on her face now.  She is in full blown coke rage mode.  She picks up the half-empty bottle of champagne that has been resting in a silver bucket on the table and throws it at the brunette holding the pool skimmer who stands about 20 feet away.  “Take that you slutty bitch” Isadora screams after the air-born bottle which smashes to the ground about three feet short of its intended target.

Before she can throw anything else, Andres grabs her and shakes her hard, she struggles to free herself from his grip before finally wiggling out of his grasp and running barefoot in her white, floor length pool coverup into the house.  She locks the door behind her and takes out her phone.  She calls the owner of the American bar in the little town where she used to work and begins sobbing into the phone about how her husband is cheating on her and abusing her emotionally and physically.  Being a guy, and a fellow American, James, the owner of the bar, hops into his car and is making the 5 hour drive to come rescue Isadora.

It is nightfall now, and Isadora is laying in bed next to the husband she resents.  The husband she wants to stab as he snores next to her.  She looks him over in the moonlight that comes in through the window and illuminates his face.  “He isn’t even attractive to me anymore.  I don’t know if he ever even was.”  Just then, Isadora’s cell lights up.  “Thank fucking God he is here!!!” she silently whispers.  She slips out of bed, and sneaks downstairs.  She slips out the door and climbs into the car where James is waiting.  She hugs him and bursts into tears as she thanks him for coming to her rescue and begins to tell the tale of all that has happened to her since he last saw her and how the fairytale life she thought she was entering was worse than the old life she had left behind in the states.  As she is talking, they are driving down a dirt-road in the dark countryside.  Suddenly, a deer jumps out and James swerves to avoid hitting it.  They swerve too far off the road and the careen onto the edge of a cliff.  The car rolls several times, and finally comes to a stop after hitting a tree.  Isadora and James are dead.

Upon hearing about his wife’s death, Andres marries the buxom, 20 year old pool attendant/personal cocktail server.  They live happily ever after and she has three of his babies.  He cheats on her everyday, but she doesn’t care, as long as the Chanel bags and Louis Vuittons, and European vacations keep flowing.

THE END