“If you were a cheese, what sort would you be?”
I call him this because if he were to excel in any profession, it would be ‘being a complete Wendy’. He’s just had TWO MONTHS off work with ‘the depressions’ for fuck’s sake. Here’s an idea son – stop spending every evening sitting about in your pants smoking weed all night, put in a full months work for once and earn your way in the world instead of relying on hand-outs from your mates and you might find you fucking cheer up a bit. Anyway.
Blonde Colleague: Just cheddar I suppose.
BC: I’m straightforward and you know what you’re getting. You?
PW: Because I’m a bit boring but I’m really nice.
He’s got a point and I suddenly realize why he annoys me so much. He is genuinely quite a ‘nice’ bloke. And I dislike ‘nice’ people – they bore me and I find myself tormenting them just to pass the time. It also occurs to me that this may be a personal character flaw of some sort. Oh well.
PW: What about you?
Me: Mmm? Dunno. Parmesan I suppose.
BC: You and your fucking parmesan. ‘Freshly grated’ I suppose you twat.
Me: I say that so as to differentiate it from that horrible stuff in the white tubs-
BC: NO-ONE CARES you cock. And who says ‘differentiate’ anyway? ‘I’m Tired Dad, would you like to listen to my stupid words and taste my fresh basil?’ We all know you eat Findus Crispy Pancakes every night anyway. Knob jockey.
Me: Why what?
PW: Why parmesan?
Me: Oh. Emm. Because I’m quite hard work but there are times when nothing else will do.
BC: WAAAAH-HAHAHA! Where’d you get the last bit? Fucking www.opposite-is-true.com?
Me: That’s my line.
BC: Fuck off is it. You probably stole it from someone anyway – you’re always stealing mine.
Me: No I’m not.
BC: What about ‘I suggest you build a bridge….and GET OVER IT’?
Me: That is quite good. But I gave you ‘shitweazel’.
BC: It’s hardly a ‘line’ is it?
PW: [quietly] It was like this just before my parents divorced.
BC: Anyway. I thought you were going to say you’d be parmesan because you FUCKING SMELL OF VOMIT.
Me: It’s only the stuff in the little white tubs that smell-
Without warning BC throws a tightly-screwed Post-it at me with such ferocity it makes an entirely unexpected ‘clacking’ noise as it ricochets off my forehead. She storms out of the office.
PW: Christ. That wasn’t very nice.
I check my emails.