At that moment, something odd came over me. The guard suddenly represented everything that had gone wrong today, yesterday, all of my life. Getting past him wasn't just necessary for obtaining a job. It was vital for my peace of mind. Can someone say meow?

"I might not be able to arrange God's intervention," I told him, "but I could certainly shove my foot up your ass."

Surprise flickered over his weather-roughened features a split second before he frowned. "God, I hate premenstrual women," he grumbled.

"If you want premenstrual, I'll give you a premenstrual bitch slap. What do you think of that?"

"You tell 'em, honey," someone yelled.

I turned. Almost every woman from the bathroom stood behind me, lined up like a St. Patrick's Day parade. Empowered by their support, I spun back around, absolutely certain I now wore an "I'll eat you alive" expression.

The guard took a precautionary step backward.

"You have exactly two seconds to get out of my way," I ground out, "or you're going to regret it. I spoke with Linda Powell three days ago-"

"Linda Powell?" Sheer terror clouded his eyes and he stepped aside. "Why didn't you say so? Take the express elevator. Nineteenth floor."

Shocked by my success, I could only blink up at him. The women behind me acted instantly, surging forward. Unprepared for movement, I was propelled past the guard and into the elevator. I managed to right myself before I kissed the carpet.

"I spoke with Linda Powell," several women shouted at once. "I did. I swear."

"Back off, ladies," I heard the guard say, just as the doors closed around me.

As I rode up the many flights, my hands began to sweat and my heartbeat quickened. I don't hate heights. I simply hate the knowledge that I could plummet to my death at any moment. Thankfully, the elevator didn't crash and I made it to the office with a few minutes to spare, one of the advantages of being a perpetual early bird.