I squirmed in my seat.
Conferences were never my thing, but this was insufferable. “Driving Taxing Conversations” sounded interesting on the surface, but it was a long, drawn out PowerPoint presentation on mitigating state unemployment tax. Fuck me, right? And being the third session in a row, right before lunch. And after three cups of coffee.
The presenter, a Mr. Joshua Lynnborn, wasn’t much to look at either. A droll voice with a dull body in a plain suit, with a blah tie to match. Not that I was much better. Black jacket, white button down blouse, black skirt, one inch heels. Instantly forgettable. I only knew him because he happened to be my boss.
The pinging from my bladder grew. I was substituting sleep with caffeine and it was catching up. Worse, I decided to sit right smack in the middle so I couldn’t slip out. Worst, my skirt was digging in and I had no way to loosen it. I clenched my legs tight.
The gentleman on my left looked my way. I was shifting too much, but what could I do? As boring as the presentation was, I couldn’t leave. This was my boss, and I had a role to play. A staged question with his rehearsed response. Anything to make him look good.