F**K Off!
A humorous short story about being in the wrong place at the wrong time
(TW: Although grawlix have been used to make the language less explicit in this story, some readers may find it offensive)
The trouble began when Sophie tucked a rude note beneath the windscreen wiper of the car parked across her driveway.
I AM SICK AND BLOODY TIRED OF PEOPLE PARKING IN MY DRIVEWAY! JUST BECAUSE THIS IS THE MIDDLE OF THE CITY AND PARKING IS HARD TO FIND DOES NOT MEAN MY DRIVEWAY IS A FREE-FOR-ALL. PLEASE KINDLY F**K OFF!
She was running late for her beauty therapist, and now she’d have to take an Uber.
Sophie had no idea it was Tom’s car parked in her driveway. Her husband, Oscar, had forgotten to inform her he’d told his best friend he could park there while Tom visited his divorce lawyer.
When Tom returned to his car an hour later, he thought it was a parking ticket. “Oh, F**k Off,” he groaned as he extricated the wad of paper from beneath the blade, noticing at the same time the wiper arm was bent.
Tom unfolded the note and read it. It must have been written by one of those advertising wankers from the agency next door with their greasy ponytails and matching smiles that never reached their eyes. He was sure he’d seen one of them having a smoke and talking on his telephone when Tom pulled up to park in Oscar’s driveway earlier that day.
“You can bloody go and F**k Off instead,” Tom grumbled. He crushed the note and hurled it to the ground. Then he marched towards a pretentious-looking corrugated iron door, positive it was the entrance to the advertising agency. He raised his fists and hammered.
The intercom crackled. “Yes?” A female voice answered. She sounded young and vaguely alarmed.
But before Tom could reply, a man built like a red-brick outhouse with hair to match, barrelled towards him. His massive hand, the size of a small leg of lamb, drove through the air and grabbed Tom’s throat, pinioning him against the wall.
“It’s you, isn’t it?” the man shouted into his face. “You’re the one who’s screwing my girlfriend! Well, you’d better F**k Off now before I flatten that weasel face of yours into a pizza margherita!”
Inside the building, Periwinkle Farraday (Peri for short) watched the skirmish from an upstairs window before turning back to look at the man lying dead on a king-sized bed.
The man was her lover, a middle-aged politician and very much married. Only minutes before, he’d been pumping and grunting inside Peri’s delectable depths. He’d suffered a fatal heart attack when he heard Tom pounding at the door, thinking it must be his wife who’d threatened to slice off his scrotum if she caught him cheating again.
Peri cast an anxious glance at her now-deceased lover and then outside the window again. Where was that damn ambulance? She’d called it five minutes ago and planned to leave before it arrived, but she hadn’t expected her boyfriend, Red, to show up and beat the bejesus out of some random dude!
“Just F**k Off and go away, Red,” she murmured.
Red finally relaxed his grip on Tom’s throat, who fell into a crumpled heap on the ground. Muttering and swearing, Red stomped towards his Toyota Hylux parked across the street.
Unfortunately for Red, he ignored the wail of the siren as the ambulance finally swung round the corner.
“F**k Off!”, the ambulance driver screamed as he slammed on the brakes.
But it was too late.
Red’s massive body landed, spread-eagled, across his windscreen, then rolled off the bonnet and hit the ground with a meaty thud.
Ten minutes later, fresh from her beauty therapist appointment, Sophie preened in the Uber driver’s rear vision mirror, admiring the Botox work on her face.
“Turn right here,” she commanded the driver. “Oh wait … an ambulance is blocking the street … Omigod, I hope it’s not Oscar!”
Then Sophie clapped her hand over her mouth. “Omigod … there are three ambulances in my driveway!”
She climbed out of the Uber just as her husband, Oscar, appeared. Together they watched as three gurneys were loaded into separate ambulances.
“Two men are dead and Tom is seriously injured,” Oscar said, shaking his head in disbelief.
Sophie pursed her newly-plumped lips and folded her arms across her siliconed chest. “I betcha it’s because of that bloody car! Some arsewipe parked his car in our driveway this morning. I knew it was trouble! That’s why I left a note on it and ripped the owner a new one and—”
Sophie stopped. “Oscar … what is it? What’s the matter? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Oh Sophie,” Oscar groaned, holding his head in his hands. “F**k Off!”
