Dear Man in the Lift At Work Today,
You may not remember me; my name is Mister Evil Breakfast and we shared something special on my daily pilgrimage to the seventh floor today – your phone call. For some reason, you decided to use the “speaker” function on your phone to make a call so that everyone around you (aka me) could listen to it. The time between pressing the button in the foyer of the building to when the elevator actually arrived was happily filled with the stilted conversation between you and your friend about his wife having tennis elbow. Your comment that perhaps she wasn’t actually playing tennis but was giving out hand-jobs behind his back may have just crossed the line of good taste. However, I was a fan of the several seconds of silence that followed, which you broke by asking, “are you still there?” as if you’d just gone through a tunnel rather than suggest that his wife is a dirty tramp. The breaker came when we actually entered the lift and he asked if he was on speaker phone, to which you almost gave the game away by stammering “n-n-n-n-n-n-n-no.” There’s nothing more reassuring than someone turning a one-syllable word into eight. I appreciated the wink you gave me afterwards. Part of it said, “I think I fooled him” and part of it said, “That shirt looks nice, what are you doing for lunch today?”
I am not entirely sure why you decided to share that particular conversation with me, but I thank you for it. If I see you again, I’m probably going to stab you and then call your friend so you can say, “I’ve been stabbed and am bleeding to death” to which he can then ask, “was it with a cock?” or “that time of the month eh?”
You’re a dick.
Love,
Mister Evil Breakfast
You may not remember me; my name is Mister Evil Breakfast and we shared something special on my daily pilgrimage to the seventh floor today – your phone call. For some reason, you decided to use the “speaker” function on your phone to make a call so that everyone around you (aka me) could listen to it. The time between pressing the button in the foyer of the building to when the elevator actually arrived was happily filled with the stilted conversation between you and your friend about his wife having tennis elbow. Your comment that perhaps she wasn’t actually playing tennis but was giving out hand-jobs behind his back may have just crossed the line of good taste. However, I was a fan of the several seconds of silence that followed, which you broke by asking, “are you still there?” as if you’d just gone through a tunnel rather than suggest that his wife is a dirty tramp. The breaker came when we actually entered the lift and he asked if he was on speaker phone, to which you almost gave the game away by stammering “n-n-n-n-n-n-n-no.” There’s nothing more reassuring than someone turning a one-syllable word into eight. I appreciated the wink you gave me afterwards. Part of it said, “I think I fooled him” and part of it said, “That shirt looks nice, what are you doing for lunch today?”
I am not entirely sure why you decided to share that particular conversation with me, but I thank you for it. If I see you again, I’m probably going to stab you and then call your friend so you can say, “I’ve been stabbed and am bleeding to death” to which he can then ask, “was it with a cock?” or “that time of the month eh?”
You’re a dick.
Love,
Mister Evil Breakfast
No comments:
Post a Comment