I Wouldn’t Piss On You If You Were On Fire
Gerald Sephalco stared into the blank screen. He hated this crap. Technical writing for a paper manufacturer. Writing about the differences between weight, texture, and hue of writing/printing/paper-airplane whatever material wasn’t exactly what he had hoped for in a career. The screen hurt his head, seared his eyeballs, destroyed his sense of self. What great things had he missed out on? The thickness of 2-mil paper was doubtfully anything he ever cared for before. Why should he continue, what was it for. A paycheck. Not really, at this point he no longer cared. Not entirely true, but he would like to think so. In point of fact, a paycheck was the only reason he came in. He used to have a crush on Gina Malinkova, but she hadn’t been around in a while. “Let go” was the term that they applied to her, she had been caught stealing a company printer, but not for the five laptops and two staplers of excellent quality. No, Gerald would not be seeing her anytime soon. Jake Smarrek was head of employee motivation. His idea of motivation was to bark till the ears bleed, then creep into his office and “work”. In point of fact, he kept a bottle of Christian Brother’s brandy in his file cabinet, which was empty of all files. His coffee mug, often full, never held a drop of coffee. Why did he drink such bad brandy? Somehow, no one asked that question. In fact, somehow, no one knew his or her fearless leader was a chronic drinker with an unsightly mole to the left of his right shoulder blade.
Mr. Sephalco did not only dislike his job, he hated his boss. Gerald always wanted to be a screenwriter, in fact in college he even put on a small play, though there were only six people in the audience, all of which were somehow directly connected to the actors and actresses, either longtime friends, lovers, or siblings. In reality, it wasn’t exactly put on by the college, just held beneath the shade of several weathered oak trees in the field. It also had only four actors, and two of them were merely extras. Still, in college, Gerald was a proud screenwriter, though he hadn’t quite made it to the screen in any form, he truly thought it an achievement within his grasp. At his current job, Mr. Sephalco thought of nothing but the incredible slowness of the second hand on the clock, like really bad lag during an MMO.
That is, unless he was thinking of his boss, his incredibly inebriated boss, the louse, how he detested him. The man lacked vision. One day he was going to give him a piece of his mind. One day. At the moment though, he had to focus. He had an assignment, one of great importance, one that might just result in his big break; to write a killer article on this acid free archive paper for artist’s. This could have applications in his upcoming screenplay. He knew it, but he didn’t know how…
Jake Smarrek glanced over at the white walled room of Gerald Sephalco. The fool. Jake shook his head in disgust, and took another sip of coffee. It was a shame what crank could do to a man. He had heard once the kid had promise. He couldn’t see how, but that’s what he had heard. From his vantage point, Gerald was useless, washed up, writing a paper on paper that was never going to be published. A smug smile and a slight nod to Gerald was all Jake could give. Being a rehab coordinator could get to someone if they let it. Jake would not let it.
