I’m Going To Kill My Agent
Character – supermodel- Setting – the world’s most inappropriate McDonald’s
- Object – phone number
- Situation – dropped contact
I’m going to kill my agent, thought Wifty, as she struggled valiantly to look thrilled. Wifty knew she had to make good on her contract so she wouldn’t get a bad rep with the industry. But, c’mon! If there was a less appropriate place for a McDonald’s, she’d like to know about it. Right in the middle of Victoria’s Secret? She was sure some geek had a fetish about girls in thongs and push-up bras scarfing french fries. Ugh! The smell of the fryers was drowning out the perfumed lacy underthings.
The stage manager tweaked Wifty’s nipples to perk them up, slid a bra strap off one shoulder, and handed her a Shamrock Shake. Then she was on the runway again, photogs leering and flashbulbs flaring. At the end of the runway she winked seductively and lost her contact.
Backstage she grabbed her cellphone and started dialing. Contract be damned.