“Who the heck is it? If you don’t have your crap ready for
the deadline, I’m not even going to consider an extension.” Came the voice from
the other side of the door.
“It’s me, Walter.” Walter replied in a shaky voice.
“Who?” The voice forcibly requested.
“Walter, I work in section five…”
“Yeah, and I’m the blasted Easter bunny, what the blazes do
you want at my door?” Anger was still dripping on each word.
“You asked to see me sir.” Walter replied with a bit more
assurance.
“Hmmmm… So I did, well don’t just stand out there with your
thumb up your butt, get in here… NOW!!” With that Walter jumped to attention
and grabbed the doorknob and started pulling like a maniac. After a couple of
seconds he noticed a little sign above the handle reading ‘Push’. Feeling like
a moron he opened the door and slowly slumped in.
Mr. J. Stairwell was the name embossed upon the name plaque.
The plaque was very elegant, unlike the dirty man that sat behind it. Mr.
Stairwell looked like an obese dwarf on a bad day. He had an army of fat rolls
around his belly, which was covered, as best as it could, by a t-shirt with the
profound statement ‘This is not a beer-gut, this is a fuel tank for my love
machine’ placed on it. His hair was brown and had a few dread locks in it, obviously
not meant to be a fashion or religious statement. And he had a very distinct
odor reminiscent of a fast-food-restaurant trashcan.
Walter thought it his duty to start the conversation before
Mr. Stairwell forgot he was there, “So, Mr. Stairwell…”
“Yes… What… What the heck do you want here, I told you stupid
people I’m not buying any of your damn religious hogwash. I don’t…”
“Mr. Stairwell, my name is Walter, I work in section five.”
“No you don’t.” Mr. Stairwell stated matter-of-factly.
“Yes, I distinctly remember working there yesterday.”
“I mean you don’t anymore, muttonhead!”
“You mean you’re laying me off?”
“Well, Walter is it?” He changed disposition to something
almost motherly.
“Yes.” Walter was getting angry at his Mr. Stairwell’s
insanity.
“I like to think of it as getting rid of useless weight,
taking out the trash, actually I prefer the term… You’re fired! You cotch, get
your crap and get out of my business”
Walter would have liked to say something that described the
true ugliness of this man; how terrible he had been to Walter. How much he
wanted to beat the living piss out of this man. How just the mere sight of his
putrid body made him want to puke every last bit of stomach lining he had out
through his nose (I would not suggest trying this at home). But alas, the only thing that came out of his mouth was,
“Sure be out in fifteen then?”
“You have ten, now get out of my office and off these
premises before I send the dogs after you.”
-V-
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