Arthur Kirkland was sure to be the envy of the average American male. He had the manners of a well educated gentleman and the accent that was blessed by the gods, one that could make most women swoon and fall into his loving arms. There was only a bit of a problem. One flaw that ruined the whole package, something that often times left him alone and ignored, and even ridiculed. Arthur Kirkland was chubby.
"Good morning, Bertha. It's going to be a rather long and troublesome day. Let's go have some breakfast and tea, shall we?" asked Arthur tiredly, as he patted the terribly overweight cat's head. "Bloody job interviews will be the death of me, I'm afraid.." The Englishman mumbled the last sentence, pulling himself from his bed, groaning as the damned thing creaked, yet another reminder of how much he had let himself go in recent years.
His new suit was rather itchy and uncomfortable, but he had to look his best. First impressions were everything these days when applying for a position, and getting a job in America was no exception. A fact which made Arthur's stomach churn. It would have been easier in England, and if not, at least he could understand the accents much better. Some of the people he encountered thus far talked straight up crazy, as he heard the phrase been said on a few occasions.
Breakfast only consisted of toast and tea, Arthur figured he should go light this morning. He was afraid that eating a full breakfast would only make his stomach bloat and make him appear even bigger than he was already. Bertha enjoyed her usual can of chicken flavored cat food and made cute little noises as she ate. The clock on the wall continued to tick seemingly louder than normal, driving the chubby cheeked male insane with dread and anticipation.
"Well, Bertha.." Arthur began, but the phone rang before he could finish speaking to his cat. Hesitating for a moment, Arthur stood and grabbed his cellphone from the counter, not recognizing the number on the caller ID. "Hello?"
"Oui! It's me, Francis! How are you doing as of late? Did you get a job yet? Or maybe a lover or two, hm? Ah, well, things are marvelous here. I miss your cute chubbiness around here. When are you coming back to Europe to visit me?" The Frenchmen continued rambled on about only God knows what. This was rather unexpected for him of all people to call, or rather annoy from a very long distance. There was no stopping Mr. Bonnefoy no matter how far away he moved."Arthur? Say something, my little chubby bunny."
"Francis, how many times have I told you to never ever call me by that stupid nickname.. It's rude and degrading, and furthermore, what the hell do you want?" Arthur shook his head and stared at the clock, counting down the minutes until his first interview. He had about thirty minutes to get the office to apply for a secretarial like job. One he was sure they would give to an aired headed, blonde woman. A woman with a pretty nice chest, he was sure.
The thickly accented voice broke through his thoughts. "Well, I just wanted to chat was all. If you're busy I could always call back later," said Francis, a few soft voices talking in the background, most likely a few of his own lovers wanting some attention. "I will talk to you later, lover boy. Good luck with things over there!"
"Thank the heavens.." Arthur sighed, turning his phone on vibrate, after ending the call with the flamboyant Frenchman. He quickly gathered his resume and other important papers in his arms and headed out the door, but not before lecturing Bertha on being a good cat while he was gone. Luckily, Arthur was able to flag down a cab to save time and energy from having to walk the long distance to the building of his destination. The cab driver was a diva and complained about the weather, but was nice enough to encourage Arthur to do his best during his interviews.
"Bollocks.. Which bloody room am I supposed to go to for my interview?" The Briton huffed, asking the bored looking and very Italian security guard, flashing the card of the interviewer's name that he was supposed to meet within a matter of minutes. "Could you tell me?"
"Ah, that bastard's on the top floor. His name is as big as his ego on the glass door. You can't miss it, unless you're blind or stupid," replied the guard, waving Arthur off, as he moved to chat up another guard. "Don't break the elevator."
Arthur frowned and finally reached the office of Mr.. What was it again? Oh, yes, Mr. Jones. The guard had been right about the door. It was unique and flashy, and it practically grabbed you by the shoulders and screamed out Mr. Jone's name. Alfred F. Jones. Total name of a douchebag if he ever heard one. He knocked and waited, and upon hearing a loud and obnoxious voice bidding him entrance, Arthur went inside.
"Hiya, dude! I'm Alfred! And I guess you're Arthur Kirkland, right? You're a lot cuter than I imagined. Have a seat and we'll get started," beamed the young blond haired, blue eyed man from behind his huge, restaurant bag covered desk. He couldn't have been much older than Arthur, perhaps younger. He couldn't really tell. The good looks and the upbeat personality caught him off guard and made him feel slightly embarrassed. "Alright, now that we're both here and stuff. I guess you're hired then, uhm, after I look at your papers. I need somebody like today, so yes.."
Arthur gave the resume to Alfred and sat quietly, confused and delighted that he may actually get this job so easily. This man seemed so helpless on his own from the looks of the filthy office and random clutter, so he would obviously be earning his wages. He smiled, admiring the cute expression on the American's face.
"Well, everything looks good enough to me. You're hired and starting tomorrow morning you work for me! Eight o' clock, right on the mark," grinned Alfred, reaching across the table to shake Arthur's sweaty hand. "I think we'll get along just dandy."