Flash Fiction / Short Story – “10 Things the Boss Hates About Me”

Hey there handsome/beautiful – you’re looking hot!

(Yes, the astute among you have already realised that I want you to read something – well done to you, you little geniuses)

Today’s story was in part inspired by this video from the band The Lonely Island – why not have a little watch before you chow down on the storytelling action?

And now, on with the show – this Maple & Pecan nut slice is not going to eat itself – I’m going to help it to meet its maker – like a boss!

 

10 Things the Boss Hates About Me (by David Ellis)

“I’m late.”

“I’m always late.”

Donald tousled his sweat drenched hair, creating a side parting you could have parked a Sherman tank in. He untucked his shirt a little, letting in a bit of cool air to circulate around his ample frame and fanned himself with a magazine.

The office Christmas party had bled and segued into the early hours of the morning.

Major Account meeting?

Major ‘In dire need of a hangover cure’ more like it.

Percy from Accounts (or ‘That Pillock, a nice guy but a complete tool all the same’ as Donald affectionately refers to him behind his back) had kept him out drinking all night, not really against his will but still an undesirable anchor to excess all the same.

“Why do I always put myself into these stressful situations, leaving everything until the last minute – I’m so disorganised!” Donald’s thoughts raced around his head like the last lap of a neurological grand prix.

Hastily stuffing a pack of Monster Munch crisps into his mouth (Pickled Onion – what was he thinking?), Donald barely made it to his interconnecting train by the skin of his teeth.

“I wish I’d bought some deodorant.” Donald mused to himself, as his fellow passengers winced at an unholy odour billowing from him, akin to a particularly fragrant kitty litter tray filling their reluctant nostrils. He put his hand to his mouth, breathing hard. “Ruddy hellfire – I could do with some breath mints too!”

Running from the underground station at a pace that could no less be described as breakneck (which he almost did on at least two occasions), he took the steps to the client’s office two at a time and tried to compose himself, as he made his way to the entrance past the obliging receptionist.

The presentation didn’t go well at all.

Being several minutes late, extremely flustered and red-faced is hardly an encouraging sign for potential investors at the best of times.

Dejectedly taking off after acknowledging their ‘Don’t call us, we’ll call you polite smiles and mannerisms’, Donald crawled into the nearest bar he could find in search of liquid refreshment.

Sinking a couple of cheeky cocktails, he was approached by an inquisitive stranger, who bought him another drink.

“I’m Rupert.” He held out his hand to Donald expectantly.

“Donald.” They shook hands briskly, Donald’s palms were still a bit squidgy from earlier.

Gulping from his whiskey glass and spying the finished drinks around them, Rupert nodded at Donald.

“You look like you’ve been through quite an ordeal today Donald – care to share your story with this old war horse?”

Donald opened up the floodgates with unrestrained gusto, filling Rupert in on every detail of the terrible fiasco of a meeting and a lot more, thanks to alcohol greasing the conversation wheels.

“I’m a walking advertisement for everything that bosses hate.” Donald held up his drink in one hand and started counting on the other in front of Rupert.

“I’m smelly, late, unreliable, a bully (but then everybody bullies Percy the Pillock at my office), I won’t admit to mistakes, I’m a bit of a gossip, never satisfied with my lot in life, hate change and wish things would remain the same, often deal with personal stuff at work and don’t do enough to reduce my bosses’ workload. A real bonafide hero to my kids, if I had any.”

Donald drained his martini glass and started to walk away from Rupert, their conversation coming to a close.

“So what’s going to happen to you Donald – will you get some grief or static back at the office?”

“Nah, I’ll be alright.”

“You didn’t tell me the name of your company?”

Donald handed Rupert his card, shook his hand, said “Look me up online friend” and then left.

Rupert peered at it and read ‘Donald Jacobson’s Emporium – Owner’.

Rupert finished his whiskey, moved the press pass in his bag aside and stared at the pad of paper with the article he was writing – ‘The Decline of the British Empire and How We Need More Entrepreneurs’.

Screwing up the article in disgust, Rupert hurled it in the bin and stared despondently out the window.

“I’m going to miss my deadline again.” Rupert continued to mutter into his whiskey.

“I’m going to be late.”

“I’m always late…..”

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3 thoughts on “Flash Fiction / Short Story – “10 Things the Boss Hates About Me”

  1. A very natural atmosphere you created around these characters. I’ve been there once and can definitely relate with the story.

    Pls I want to apologize for not being able to contribute as much I’d have loved to.

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