WANKER AT WORK

As I arrive to work he’s there. Standing like a Superhero. With a creepy, fucking annoying smile that only someone of his shitheadedness could possess.

Only instead of Clark Kent, its Clark Kunt and he’s come to ruin the fucking day.

As I enter he makes some stupid remark;

“Oh, ur in are ya”

I mutter cunt under my breath.

He always arrives to work extra-anally-early. Its so he can be the first one there to open up the place. Its his A-Word quirk.

Once entered he switches the lights on and deactivates the alarm system. He tells me he can have all of this done under 5 seconds.

Before I’ve even hung up my jacket. He’s bothering me.

Hovering around like a fly trying to find a place to land.

Invading my personal space with his breath that reeks of the owners arse.

More people arrive to get on with the job at hand. They also receive the same annoying welcome.

I don’t choose to be here. But dreams don’t pay the bills.

The pay is dogshit and I loathe the public. Having to put on a fake polite performance all day is tiresome. The customers sap my mental capital – although I’ve learnt to tolerate them. I call this – coming to work meditation.

I’m trying to enjoy a cup of coffee, and low and behold, he’s there again.

Popping up like whack a-mole. If only I could find the rubber mallet.

Continuously informing me of the benefits of Camomile tea. I DONT CARE! He carries on regardless.

Afternoon. Lunch Time.

I’m eating. He comes in and also starts to eat.

He begins to start talking with a mouth full of chewed up chicken. God only knows what he’s saying. It’s inaudible. Talking about his hobbies maybe.

Could be some new innate knowledge that for some reason, he thinks he has to share. Whatever it is, it’s probably pointless dribble.

He persists.

With every bite he snorts. Resembling a hungry tramp who’s wolfing down lukewarm chips that they’ve found from out of a steel litter bin.

I spend the remainder of the day trying to avoid him wherever I can just to run down the remaining hours.

Work Finishes. Finally. Another day, Another dollar.

We all leave. I head off. Got a bus to catch.

See ya later.

I walk towards the busy rush hour road. Traffic whizzing past in both directions. I need to cross over, so I can catch the bus that takes me the fuck home.

Finally, there’s a break in the mad- mundane – everyone – darting home – so – they – don’t – miss – an – episode – of – Eggheads – traffic.

I take one step.

It hits me. A speeding car not an epiphany.

Crashing into me, I get knocked off my feet and tossed into the middle of the road.

I hit the floor. Now don’t get me wrong the pain is fucking excruciating.

Paralysed I’m lying in the road. I hear commotion from the driver.

“He just stepped out, I didn’t see him, is he okay????”

As I lie there I begin to see a light, and its more than likely from the headlights from the car that has tore me a new one. Every part of me is motionless.

Like speckles of rain that land on a car windshield the darkness gradually starts to disrupt my vision.

Its here, the final curtain. My time is up. Death has arrived and it came in the form a Nissan Micra.

Numbness comes to the grand finale. I feel the last beat of my pulsating heart. As the air leaves my body I deflate like a broken bouncy castle.

I hear a voice. Could it be God himself? No.

It’s Clark Kunt;

“I don’t think he’ll be in tomorrow”

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