I don't own anything. If I did, there would already be a "Charmed Sons" series.
It was all an accident, a really bad…awkward accident. Now I can never show my face in that gas station ever again. Ok folks, I would explain but I'm really trying to forget it, so let's leave it at that. Got it? Peachy.
Now I'm sitting in my cubical, staring mindlessly at one of my three walls, wishing that I had a window office, so at the very least, I could occupy myself by making fun of innocent bystanders' clothing choices. But no, here I am twiddling my thumbs, and it's not even 10. This is one of those days that you wish you could rewind and press snooze a couple more times, and hopefully just sleep through the entire day.
But I didn't press snooze, because as much as I hate this job I need it. Money doesn't grow on trees you know. Wow, that was incredibly lame. So is the word "lame". Christ, I need something to do. I wonder if Dan is feeling my pain. I lean back as far as I can go in my office chair and see my best friend Dan throwing pencils at the ceiling tiles. Damn, why didn't I think of that? Obviously I wasn't the only one to come to that conclusion due to the fact that my fellow workers just started throwing pencils as well. Oh shit, this is going to be bad.
Suddenly our office manager comes in yelling, "You, you, you, you, and you." She points to Dan and a few other pencil throwers and… me. What the hell did I do? "Go to Mr. Brando's office, now!" That bitch, I didn't do anything. I stalk over to Dan.
"Well, at least we're up and moving," Dan throws his arm around my shoulders and leads me behind the other workers. That's my Dan, always the optimistic one. Finally our little posse arrives to Brando's door and is shoved inside to face our doom.
Our present doom stands at about 4'10, is old and balding, and has been divorced a rumored 6 times. Ladies and Gents, allow me to introduce Mr. Brando. No relation to Marlon Brando, and even if he was, our Mr. Brando seriously lacked in…well everything.
"I am very disappointed in you all," He paces in front of us, "It will cost hundreds of dollars to replace the tiles and pencils."
Dan cuts him off, "Don't forget the fountain pen!" I hit Dan in the back of the head as casual as possible, given the situation.
"And you," Brando stops directly in front of me, causing me to look down. This action apparently amuses Dan and he starts struggling to hold back his laughter. I don't consider myself tall, but in comparison to Brando, I'm a giant. "Why didn't you stop them?" Brando turns a deep red which makes it even harder for me to keep a straight face.
"Sir, I have no control over my co-workers." I'm trying so hard not to laugh right now that I barely hear Dan snort loudly causing Brando to turn on his heels and stare menacingly. This is very hard to achieve at his height.
"You, just leave, clean out your desk and just leave."
Dan stares at Brando as if he won the freaking lottery, "You mean I'm fired?"
"Yes Mr. Burberry, you're fired." Dan jumps into the air whooping for joy. He grabs me around the waist and spins me, finally putting me down and skipping happily to his desk. "Now the rest of you are on thin ice."
Brando continues his rant but at this point I have completely zoned out and have decided that it is more fun to watch Dan as he joyfully throws things into the trash. In the background I hear Brando drone on, "Blah blah bla-lah wonk." Sort of sounds like the adults on that cartoon, shit, the one with the kid and the dog, and the kid with the blanket and that one kid who's waiting for the giant squash or whatever.
"So, what do you have to say for yourself?" I look around the room wondering what the hell is going on. The others have either gone back to work or have been fired, leaving Mr. Brando staring at me waiting for an answer.
"Uh…you're really short." Shit, did I say that out loud? The man turns purple. Oh, shit.