So, you up for it Boom-Dawg?
El-Jefe beamed from my laptop screen, his smile resembling salted maggots.
I stared at him before casting a glance at the other participants in the video call. We had received communication from up high that the Executive Team were concerned for their minions mental health with all this working from home malarkey that we were doing.
In other words, one of the directors must have been reading The Guardian again.
A result of this was that we were being encouraged to engage in some social activities. So far there had been threats of a socially distanced meet up in a town park or a virtual pub quiz.
I had roundly shot down the idea of the Park meet-up, announcing distastefully that is sounded too much like dogging to me and that if I wanted to masturbate, I would do so in the comfort of my own home, without my colleagues enthusiastically clapping me on to the vinegar stroke.
I had accompanied this statement with a face similar to the one I make when the Good Lady announces its Quinoa balls for dinner.
Um... Well, the thing is...
A succession of rueful, apologetic faces marched across my face as if it were the floor of a circus tent.
Hey, come on man! It will be fun!
Wetty, another of my colleagues on the call glistened out at me.
It's just that... Ermm... I...
I blew out a big puff of air from my inflated cheeks like a Roofer insulting a man's garage roof. I was in a bind. I had shot down the park meet up and that only left the virtual pub quiz.
Was it just me or did that sound like the shittest thing ever?
I mean, surely you don't have any other plans?
Some buffoon with teeth chortled at me from my screen. He looked like a feverish beaver and not the good kind.
I had no idea who he was.
This COVID working from home malarkey was a pisser. When you were in the office you could tell who was important and not to be messed with by the clothes they wore.
Not so easy on a video call, where everyone dresses as if they were either going for a run or a rake in the local supermarket's bins.
So, tonight, 8 o'clock?
El Jefe chuckled at me, raising a glass of water to the camera.
And this, this will be beer!
He cried, nodding at his greasy-looking water.
The rest of the people on the call cheered loudly then started disconnecting.
Soon there was just me staring at a black screen.
I raised my can of beer which had been conveniently out of sight and chuckled.
Why wait till eight?
