Mourning Coffee

7thMay. × ’09

One of our bosses rang through this morning and asked if I could get everyone in our department to go downstairs to the parking garage. He was running late by about a half hour and seeing as the cafe is connected to the car park, we all thought that we might be treated to a cup of coffee and a muffin. Everyone was happy to avoid a screen tan for a few minutes, so we all made our way down.

When the elevator doors opened, we saw our manager sitting on the bonnet of his sports car. He loves to refer to it as a sports car, although it’s a 91 Ford Capri. It’s as much a sports car as Linda Lovelace is an actress.

We all gathered round the car and he pointed to the hood and said “Look at that” We all leaned in, staring at the glossy enamel of his car, trying to discern exactly what our focus should be. To my eyes, it was a square of polished black paint. I felt like I should make some sort of acknowledging noise, so I gurgled a diplomatic “huh

See that? I nearly hit a kid today, just there. Right there. Jesus, I was speeding too, if I’d hit him, he’ be dead. Can you imagine that? That kid’s head would have burst like a hot grape

As I hung my head and shook it, my boss mistook my crushing torment for an expression of empathy. He gripped my shoulder and told me not to worry,

“the whore-chariot would still see many years of flange-mashing

I barely registered that I said out loud “For fuck’s sake“.

He held my shoulder even tighter and said “exactly… exactly…

The dejected moan-sigh I let out was loud, but in no way compared to the one I made seconds later after he said

So… how bout you buy your old boss a coffee? After last night’s Filipino, I’m broke as


Yo, where my tweeps at? –

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