"Stop mumbling you twit. I can never understand you!!" The boss was in fine form this morning and I’d managed to get him extra crispy by mumbling into his bad ear.
And I was feeling quite smug about it.
"Oh um, I said ‘it only takes a thimble full’ Sir?" My voice raised a few octaves at the end in an attempt to transform my weak-ass recovery into a hopeful question.
His brow furrows.
Oh god, not now - I start giggling.
"A thimble full of what? What in god's name are you talking about? What's so goddamn funny?"
"You wouldn’t find it funny sir, trust me." Repressed giggles threaten to leak from my ears.
Face now crimson, “Oh is that so. I’ll decide what is and what is not funny. Now what’s so fucking funny?”
As I take a deep breath and choke back the giggling I hear the distinct sound of another door slamming shut on my career.
“Well sir, every Monday for the past seven months I have come into your office to 'debrief'. Now, I don’t just walk in and start talking. I put real time and effort into my pitches. I am always sure to be on time, focused and in touch with current events.
And every Monday you fidget, snort, grunt and give me the same blank, backwards stare. You then proceed to hand me an assignment based on what you had for dinner last night or whom you are currently fucking.
The trouble I have is where to fix my gaze while you hand down my weekly punishment. I would look at your beard but there is always disgusting crusty bits lurking there. Looking in your lazy eye is equally objectionable. I settle on your forehead.
Herein lies the problem.
What’s funny, Sir, is when you furrow your brow the lines on your fat head contort into a perfectly formed, and quite hilarious, question mark and some of us have taken to calling you the Riddler.”
Tricefta Prompt: Door
Word Count 333