Two years ago I came to this towering granite fresh out of graduate school, my arrogance justified by a scanty resume. Innocently, I tried getting coffee with my “World’s Best Lay” mug in hand, and a middle-aged man with oily hair and a turned up nose eyeballed my cup. He seemed pleased, a sly smirk encroaching his face.

He made a pfft noise with his mouth, showing is skepticism. “Great mug,” he said. Let the s*** start. “Thanks. Anniversary gift. Girlfriend has a great sense of humor.” “Sounds like love.”

Here I sit years later, Bill and I still at each other’s throats and me no further up the ladder than when I started. Last week, he interrupted a meeting to chastise my presentation on Synergy. “I thought we wanted things to be pleasing to all people. This needs to be a bit more lavish. It’s just facts on white.” What the hell? This isn’t Disney Land. B****** cost me a promotion. Again.

A few months back, Bill started a vendetta against my lunch that touched his prized cheese and cucumber sandwich. “This is a health code violation. The transfer of spit could lead to a strep throat or mono epidemic.” The office manager applauded him for saving everyone from cooties. Of course, Bill didn’t mention the six layers of saran wrap covering his sandwiches. Either way, they made me buy a mini fridge.

The clock struck 5:12, and Bill went home, leaving me in purgatory. His O.C.D. has him leaving work at the same time every day, giving him exactly 18 minutes to get home in time for his favorite show, Cooking With Shannon, and an evening of neglecting his family. He'd rather be skinned than spend any time with that b**** he married or their three test tube children.

As I walked to the window and pushed up its screeching frame, every action echoed through the quiet of the office. Dry winter air burned like acid on my face. Bill was pulling out of his parking space and driving towards the crowded city street hundreds of feet below. It should take Bill about 30 seconds to reach the street; 5 for me to reach the ground.

I grabbed the latch of the window and heaved myself onto the sill. Crouching over, I held the ledge with my hands. Bill sauntered down the street as I rocked back and forth on my heels impatiently. When the time came, I jumped.

I thrashed about in the air, gaining speed as I sank towards the pavement. Bill would probably have something to say about that later. “Even in his final act he couldn't be more lavish, flailing about like a muddled monkey.”

In the seconds it took me to fall, I couldn’t get the a**hole out of my head. I barely noticed when the right side of my body collided with the frame of his car. My bones splintered and severed, turning to chalk. My head pinched into a gory collage of facial features. I faintly heard Bill shriek while Journey played in the background. Screw you, Bill.