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Save Your Receipts
It was the spring of 2016. I was killing it. I was in the best shape of my life thanks to drinking the CrossFit KoolAid, I was dating a celebrity (back when I still dated men for some reason, smdh) and I got a job turning comedians into holograms.
But just as summer began, bad things started to happen. My golden retriever, Madison, my soulmate, died as I lay by his side on my parents’ newly renovated kitchen floor. Then there was work. I had pitched an idea to produce a show where a bunch of comedians would roast the shit out of Donald Trump’s hologram. It was an election year and I was confident my girl Hillary had it in the bag. I’d been at Hologram USA for barely a week when my boss, a man named Alki David, came into my office and put his hand tightly around my throat, as if he was strangling me. In a deep, rumbling voice he told me, “Look into my eyes,” as he held onto my throat.
I had been in my office working on my computer when he’d barged in and grabbed me.
He did it again a week later in front of a comedian I’d invited to check out the hologram studio.
Oh, he was just getting started.
When I’d hear the elevator bell ring, I’d freeze. And when I could hear him barking orders at somebody or bragging about himself from down the hall — if there was time — I’d grab my stuff and sneak out the back door…
