Cheryl arrives home at 6:30PM. She thrusts off her shoes, hurls her briefcase into the massive pile of crumpled up work papers and past due notices, and advances to her kitchen to snatch a drink. The windows are small and coated with dust, her fridge makes a constant humming in the background, her oven is lacking a button, and there is a pile of week old dishes sedentary in the sink. She opens the old, metallic fridge and thoughtlessly grasps the beer in the front. She saunters to her backyard to listen to the quiet chirping of the birds as the sun sets: a personal cure for a rough day at work. As she gulps away her sorrows and self-pity, a stray begins to snarl ferociously at the birds nest situated in her large oak tree.
“Hey! Shoo! You’ve got no business messing with that!” she hollers incoherently.
The dog crooks his head momentarily, but then disregards her and resumes his rampage. She takes offense; she raises her bottle starkly and draws it behind her head, preparing to whip it. The doorbell sounds suddenly, and she withdraws reluctantly to tend to her unexpected visitor. She swiftly swings open the door to expose a man, short in stature. He is sporting a green coat, black slacks, and a black top hat. She giggles at his quirky appearance.
“What pleases you so much?” she says sarcastically in response to the widening grin on his round, rosy cheeks.
“To present you with an opportunity,” he declares as he pushes his way past her into her home. “Nice place you’ve got here… not,” he utters.
“Uh, and you are?” Cheryl questions.
“That’s not important. I am here to give you three wishes, no questions asked,” he squeals.
“Oh really? You expect me to believe that scam? Get out of my house,” she grumbles.
“Wow… grouchy. I’ll just toss these over here then.” He flings the three tickets beside her masses of work and dashes for the door.
Cheryl sits down on her couch, still puzzled from this unusual encounter.

She wakes up, 7:00AM. She trudges out of bed to the bathroom, where she carefully places her contacts into her pale, blue eyes, rinses her face, and puts on her makeup. She catches a glimpse of the clock: 7:10AM! She’s late. She hurriedly squeezes on some trousers and a blouse and hurries out the door. She arrives to work 10 minutes late, already worrying about how her tardiness will give her boss further ammunition.
“Your late,” he hollers. “I expect you to stay an hour late today.”
She hurries over to her desk to see many new piles of papers; mostly busy work. The piles are hundreds of crisp sheets high, and are spread systematically across her laminate, L-shaped cubical. She sits down, fixes her dull brown hair behind her ears, and observes her surroundings. The office has a monotonous feel; things rarely change. As usually, the water fountain is dripping in the back corner of the square room, the ceiling fan is spinning mesmerizing above her head, and her neighbor is tapping his pencil obnoxiously to an unknown beat. A cool breeze from a nearby window caresses her back as she begins her work. Hours go by as she slaves away in her bland work place. Once everyone has left, her boss calls her into his office.
“Cheryl, Come,” he commands from across the hall.
She sits down carefully at the opposite end of the table. There are awards casing the walls, and a gold name plate at the forefront of his long, mahogany desk. It smells strongly of vanilla, a strange smell for a man who evidently tries to ooze masculinity and power. His face is wrinkled from many years of stress, and his hair is thinning immensely at the top of his head. He wears a black suit, a white shirt, and a tie; he is largely overdressed in comparison to the mediocrity of the other office staff. The view out of the window behind him is distracting; she can see the top of the city skyline beyond the small, local businesses, and the sun is beginning to set with hues of pink, yellow, and orange.
“I’m not very impressed with your work. You need to do more, you need to be timely, and frankly, you need to get your act together. If you don’t, I can assure you that your future in this company will not be bright,” he declares, harshly. “I received the request for a recommendation from our competition. You applied, didn’t you? I wanted to let you know that I told them all about you… I wouldn’t hold your breath for that one,” he pauses. “That is all.”
She rises in shock and scurries out the door, down the stairs, and into her car. Feelings of helplessness and sorrow engulf her mind. She feels as though nothing she does is good enough. Everyone’s a critic and no one understands. As she drives, distractedly, her mind ruminates over her bosses harsh words. She feels stuck, she feels hopeless, and she feels revengeful. She arrives home an hour later, slamming her door behind her. She slumps down defenselessly on the couch; just as she is about to sleep, she spots the tickets in her peripheral vision. Pondering their effectiveness, she resolves that nothing can be lost by trying; after all, life could not get much worse.
“I wish my boss were nicer,” she pauses, contemplating the best way to communicate her desires. “Actually, I wish I were the president of this company, and I wish that my boss were in my situation; that’ll give him a taste of his own medicine.”
With that, everything goes hazy.

She wakes up, 7:00AM, and trudges out of bed to the bathroom. She gets a glimpse of the clock: 7:10AM! She’s late. She scuttles out to her car and dashes down the street. She arrives 20 minutes late. As she strolls in, she is greeted with a forced smile from everyone she encounters. She situates herself comfortably at her desk, forgetting the wishes she made the previous night, and begins to work. Her boss comes over.
“Ugh, here we go again,” she ruminates to herself.
“Hi boss! Are you looking for the monthly report? I can find it for you and bring it to your office if you’d like?” he questions.
“My office?” she enquires, puzzled. She rises, and proceeds to the once dreaded office. She places herself carefully at the end of the table. There are awards plaguing the walls, and a gold plate featuring her name at the forefront of the long, mahogany desk. She stares quietly in amazement.
“Ring, Ring,” chimes the phone.
“Hello, this is Cheryl Mathews,” she pronounces.
“Cheryl! How dare you make me to hold for such a lengthy period of time! I am calling because I’m not particularly enthralled with your office’s work ethic recently. Our numbers have drastically declined, and your office is largely to blame. I expect you to implement our policies better, or your future in this company will not be bright,” he pauses, “That is all!”
Cheryl sets down the phone, confused and amazed at the ill-treatment her boss had been experiencing as the district manager. There is a knock at her door.
“What do you want?!” she snarls, hypocritically.