Monday, August 09, 2010
Rocket
A steady morning, not too much work and not too little. The minutes tick tock ticked away, quiet and contentedly as a timebomb.
Stella, my eighties style yuppie witch of a team leader, was in her office remodelling her eyebrows with the help of some app she's got on her iPhone, and Tabs was taking a break from carrying armfuls of photocopying up and down the corridor when we heard the bad tempered hobble of Creepy Keith from Accounts approaching.
"Watch out Tabs, here comes Casanova," said Stella. "He'll have your knickers off faster than you can say Marks and Sparks."
Keith grunted into the office.
"Hi Keith," said Stella. "Take a seat."
"Very funny. I've got your panini."
"How did you get on at the doctors?"
"She said if it hasn't come back out by Friday they'll have to operate."
"So if somebody rang you now, Keith," asked Tabs, nibbling thoughtfully at a sort of cake thing from the vending machine called Blueberry Supposedly, "would we actually hear it?"
"No," interupted Stella. "He put it on vibrate. That was the point."
"You can probably get an app for that," said Tabs.
"I told her to keep the change," said Keith, slamming the panini onto Stella's desk and hobbling out again in a painful direction.
"What's got into him?" wondered Tabs. Nobody felt the need or desire to answer.
The lady at the gate with the dreamy soft white baps has branched out into paninis.
Stella, who froths into a lather at the very idea of anything entrepreneurial, is wildly enthusiastic.
"That woman is doing more to advance the metropolitanisation of Preston than..." she said, wiping rocket and molten Garstang Blue from her chin, "...well, everyone else put together. Ouch, that's hot! She'll be selling cocktails next. It'll be just like Mad Men and I CANNOT WAIT."
Everybody here has gone panini crazy. It's the new sudoku, but delicious and tasty.
Everybody except Mike that is, who has taken to bringing in his own fishfinger sandwiches in an act of defiant contrariness.
"It's just a nose cut off spiteface thing," Stella tells him, but he mumbles and stares at his screen like he can't hear her, which in fairness he can't as he's always listening to happy hardcore at full volume on his headphones.
Later on, after the going home bell had rung and the carpark had all but drained empty, and she was waiting for her lift and me for my train, Stella said, "Actually Tim, I'll let you into a secret: my friend Becky makes the world's best fishfinger sandwiches. They're amazing."
"Oh," I said.
"Promise you won't tell Mike?" she asked.
"My lips are watertight."
She folded away her laptop and stared dreamily towards the datacentre where Rex the Security Guard was urinating on his hostas.
"No word of a lie, Tim," she sighed, "there's no better feeling in the world than when I've got my friend Becky's fingers slipping around inside me."
"Any luck with the jobhunting?" I asked, but when I looked up she was already halfway across the car park, skipping towards the gate where her good and true friend Becky was waiting in neutral to transport her away from all this.
I packed my banana back into it's special compartment and headed off for the station.
_______________________________________________
People who enjoyed this blogpost may also enjoy - ahem, pauses for breath - my CD, available now on iTunes and from Idiot Johnson Direct. Thank you.
Stella, my eighties style yuppie witch of a team leader, was in her office remodelling her eyebrows with the help of some app she's got on her iPhone, and Tabs was taking a break from carrying armfuls of photocopying up and down the corridor when we heard the bad tempered hobble of Creepy Keith from Accounts approaching.
"Watch out Tabs, here comes Casanova," said Stella. "He'll have your knickers off faster than you can say Marks and Sparks."
Keith grunted into the office.
"Hi Keith," said Stella. "Take a seat."
"Very funny. I've got your panini."
"How did you get on at the doctors?"
"She said if it hasn't come back out by Friday they'll have to operate."
"So if somebody rang you now, Keith," asked Tabs, nibbling thoughtfully at a sort of cake thing from the vending machine called Blueberry Supposedly, "would we actually hear it?"
"No," interupted Stella. "He put it on vibrate. That was the point."
"You can probably get an app for that," said Tabs.
"I told her to keep the change," said Keith, slamming the panini onto Stella's desk and hobbling out again in a painful direction.
"What's got into him?" wondered Tabs. Nobody felt the need or desire to answer.
The lady at the gate with the dreamy soft white baps has branched out into paninis.
Stella, who froths into a lather at the very idea of anything entrepreneurial, is wildly enthusiastic.
"That woman is doing more to advance the metropolitanisation of Preston than..." she said, wiping rocket and molten Garstang Blue from her chin, "...well, everyone else put together. Ouch, that's hot! She'll be selling cocktails next. It'll be just like Mad Men and I CANNOT WAIT."
Everybody here has gone panini crazy. It's the new sudoku, but delicious and tasty.
Everybody except Mike that is, who has taken to bringing in his own fishfinger sandwiches in an act of defiant contrariness.
"It's just a nose cut off spiteface thing," Stella tells him, but he mumbles and stares at his screen like he can't hear her, which in fairness he can't as he's always listening to happy hardcore at full volume on his headphones.
Later on, after the going home bell had rung and the carpark had all but drained empty, and she was waiting for her lift and me for my train, Stella said, "Actually Tim, I'll let you into a secret: my friend Becky makes the world's best fishfinger sandwiches. They're amazing."
"Oh," I said.
"Promise you won't tell Mike?" she asked.
"My lips are watertight."
She folded away her laptop and stared dreamily towards the datacentre where Rex the Security Guard was urinating on his hostas.
"No word of a lie, Tim," she sighed, "there's no better feeling in the world than when I've got my friend Becky's fingers slipping around inside me."
"Any luck with the jobhunting?" I asked, but when I looked up she was already halfway across the car park, skipping towards the gate where her good and true friend Becky was waiting in neutral to transport her away from all this.
I packed my banana back into it's special compartment and headed off for the station.
_______________________________________________
People who enjoyed this blogpost may also enjoy - ahem, pauses for breath - my CD, available now on iTunes and from Idiot Johnson Direct. Thank you.
It kind of goes without saying, but this is my blog. I own it. Slightly daft MP3 disclaimer: All MP3's are posted here for a limited time only. Music is not posted here with the intention to profit or violate copyright. In the unlikely event that you are the creator or copyright owner of a song published on this site and you want it to be removed, let me know.