Of Bob and Dick
Starbucks was packed again, we were lucky to get a table. The last time and the one before that, we had to do a ctrl-c and head back to the office, or the orifice as Bob always called it. Fucking Bob, he always had a way with words.
We both had our phones whipped out as the Millennial Code & Customs demanded. Bob was reading r/god-knows-what as usual, except this time it wasn’t anything funny — he had a frown on his forehead. My iPhone was showing the User Sub. It comes with a risk, but it’s worth every weird look I get when a bystander decides to invade my privacy. And then Bob spoke:
“Hey, according to this article I’m reading, you’re emotionally attached to your job.”
“No, not really, I hate my job.”
“Oh, I don’t mean that-”
”Dude! It’s tedious as hell!”
“No-no, no, I did not mean your job-job, but the people you do the work with.”
My new job doesn’t have a Bob. There is a guy who looks a bit like Bob ,when you squint your eyes and maybe squat a little to get the height right, but other than that, he ain’t Bob.
The job-job is still tedious.
There’s a guy called Dick, slim and tall as a fuck. He’s into gaming, like seriously. He claims he has a backlog of 10 triple A games, each bought from the previous Steam Sale.
“All with the lowest of lowest of lowest prices” he swears.
His eyes are glaring as he goes on about the latest upgrades on his PC.
GeForce this, Intel that. I wish some of the number-letter combinations following the words would still make sense to me. Things were a little different 20 odd years ago.
Somehow, I envy him.
Bet I’ll miss him. He tells me he got an offer.
“Too good to pass, man! I can finally afford to buy the newest 16GB DDR4…”
His mouth is moving, but I can’t hear a thing, my brain has learned to filter all that.
All I think about is his attachment.