Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters blah blah blah. Are these even necessary anymore?
A frustrated sigh came from Hank as he put on his glasses, having slept through his alarm. There wouldn't be any time to take a shower he realized irritably. He quickly threw his wrinkled uniform on and rushed into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee. "Morning Peg-leg." He said tiredly as he fumbled with a coffee cup. "Good morning, Hank. If you don't hurry you're going to be late." She chirped as she put a plate in the dish drainer. A little too cheery for his liking. He brushed it off and went to pour creamer in his coffee when Peggy dropped the pan she was washing, startling him into dumping out a fourth of the contents of the creamer, splashing coffee on his shirt at the same time. "Dammit!" He exclaimed in an even worse mood.
With no time to change he fled out to his truck and jumped in. He threw it in reverse, his sleep deprived brain sent him into a panic when he ran over something with a thump. Fear was replaced with anger when he saw it was just his jack. He would have to deal with that later. Hank sped off to work. He turned on the radio, flipping from station to station, unsatisfied that they all seemed to play some form of pop music.
While he was fiddling with the radio he failed to yield to the speed limit. Red and blue lights shone in his rear view mirror, catching his attention quickly. "Dammit, what now?" He groaned as he pulled over and rolled his window down. He tapped the steering wheel impatiently as the officer still hadn't gotten out of their patrol car. Hank huffed as he tapped harder on the wheel.
The officer finally got out and approached Hank's rolled down window. "How can I help you officer?" Hank asked with thinly veiled annoyance. "Do you know how fast you were going, son?" The officer who couldn't be a day over 25 asked. Hank's expression faltered for a moment, who was he calling son? "Uh I was going the speed limit, sir." Hank said, wanting the officer to just hurry the hell up. "Oh really? I have news for you, you were going 5 over. I'm going to need to see you license and registration please." He stated, an almost smug look on his face. Hank stared blankly at him momentarily before grabbing said items and handing them over. "There is a 3 mile per hour allowance, sir." He said, trying to hold a respectful tone. "The speed limit is in place for a reason." The cop said, totally ignoring Hank. "Can't you let me off with a warning?" Hank pressed. "A warning?" He asked incredulously before heading back to his car to process his info.
"Got dang it." Hank muttered under his breath. He glanced at the time and groaned, he was going to be incredibly late. The minutes ticked by slowly. He suddenly remembered his untouched coffee sitting on the counter. "Dang it!" He muttered softly in defeat, now stuck with the crappy decaf at work.
The officer came back with Hank's papers and took his time with writing the ticket. "What are you in such a hurry for, boy?" He asked in a slow southern drawl. "I'm late for work, just give me my ticket please." Hank snapped irritably. "Leave earlier next time." He said, already bored with Hank as he handed him his papers and ticket. Hank snatched his stuff back and threw it in the passenger seat. He purposely drove one mile per hour under the speed limit the rest of the way to work. Getting pulled over for 2 mph over was ridiculous, he should have asked for that officer's badge number. He shook his head and got out of the truck and rushed inside to clock in.
"You got something on your shirt." Snickered one of his coworkers. Hank rolled his eyes and sat at his desk. Mr. Strickland stumbled into Hank's office, taking in his disheveled appearance. "Mr. Strickland-" Hank nearly shouted in surprise. "I don't want to know what happened, just get yourself cleaned up." Mr. Strickland slurred before he left to return to his office. Hank clenched his jaw and did just that, scowling in disgust when he noticed a dirty pink thong crumpled in the corner. He shuddered and quickly left the bathroom. He sat back down in his office chair, hoping to get a little paperwork done before he had to go on a gas run.
Hank groaned when he found a few documents filled out incorrectly. Of course, he seemed to be the only one to give damn about the importance of paperwork. It was beginning to look like another day stuck at the office. He hoped a few customers would stop by to lighten the mood. He loved showing off their propane and propane accessories; and making sales of course.
Intrusive thoughts of the discarded pink thong clouded his mind. A soft growl left his lips. The loud snapping of gum and banter of his coworkers, more like co-irkers at the moment, grated against his ears. He could barely focus on the document in front of him. He needed a cigarette stat.
Thankfully there was a pack of cigs just laying on the table in the break room. He grabbed a small matchbook from his desk and went out back. Finally, a little peace. He lit up his cancer stick and relished the familiar taste of the smoke. It had been too long since he felt even remotely relaxed. The nicotine was doing its job. Hank leaned against the building, his eyes closed. That damn pink thong intruded his thoughts again, killing the mood slightly. What was it that made it haunt him so? He shook his head with a heavy sigh. It was just too much some days.
He finished his suicide stick and headed back inside on a mission. With a paper towel in hand he carefully picked up the filthy thong and went back outside, making sure he wasn't followed. Hank fumbled with a match as it seemed to be a little livelier than a funeral parlor on the other side of the door. Shaking his head again he got back to the task at hand. Burning that dang thong. Once it finally caught on fire, he felt something inside of him snap. As the flames danced across his glasses he felt more alive than he had in years. He was done taking shit, from this thong, from his disappoint of a son, and from this town.