I have a lunch outing
"Come down to the counter," Chris growls. "Now." The poncey-softie in him amuses me so, and I am terribly fond of him; the threat does not quite work.
Owing to the strictly enforced work hours at my desk, I can never quite join the others punctually when we have lunch outings - especially when I am required to sneak out a full half-hour early and return an hour late. It is an amazing feat, a brilliant thrill, and I have been pulling it off well enough for the last month.
I sneak past the boss' cubicle, tap the access button on the main door, and slip out of the room. I skip down the corridors with alacrity. An elevator-ride later and I am at the first floor.
*
Whumph. Everything in the car takes a tumble to the left.
Ffphumph. And to the right.
The car jostles about like a pinball caught amongst a series of bumpers.
K.C. floors the accelerator, all badass and attitude. The car tyres squeal in protest, and we are heaved backwards into our seats. K.C. drives as if it were the NASCAR.
I try not to grumble. It is the fastest way out of headquarters, and I am really big on lunch outings.
Hans is remarkably calm. It is his first ride in K.C.'s car, and yet he seems entirely unfazed. Balls of steel, I say. Mervyn and Chris chirp happily; I cower in terror.
The car negotiates a couple more turns. I squeal, curse, and cover my eyes.
Owing to the strictly enforced work hours at my desk, I can never quite join the others punctually when we have lunch outings - especially when I am required to sneak out a full half-hour early and return an hour late. It is an amazing feat, a brilliant thrill, and I have been pulling it off well enough for the last month.
I sneak past the boss' cubicle, tap the access button on the main door, and slip out of the room. I skip down the corridors with alacrity. An elevator-ride later and I am at the first floor.
*
Whumph. Everything in the car takes a tumble to the left.
Ffphumph. And to the right.
The car jostles about like a pinball caught amongst a series of bumpers.
K.C. floors the accelerator, all badass and attitude. The car tyres squeal in protest, and we are heaved backwards into our seats. K.C. drives as if it were the NASCAR.
I try not to grumble. It is the fastest way out of headquarters, and I am really big on lunch outings.
Hans is remarkably calm. It is his first ride in K.C.'s car, and yet he seems entirely unfazed. Balls of steel, I say. Mervyn and Chris chirp happily; I cower in terror.
The car negotiates a couple more turns. I squeal, curse, and cover my eyes.
Labels: life
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