My Authority

Bitterness wells up and spills from my pores. I try to restrain and rid myself of this poison, but I keep transversing to a point in time of my interview for my current employment. Sitting upon a chair in the chain of coffee stores, that tend to ruin the drink with syrup, with an old work buddy and his new boss. I feel a brief moment of pity for the squat wooden chair the 350+ pound boss man is planted upon. There is a small, minute sound of a chair creaking as it expresses it pain and agony from bearing so much weight. This is accompanied by a whispering sound that is the deep breathing of labor associated with hard exercise, but this man is simply moving his girth. Together, the chair and boss man, compose a symphony of ambiance sadness that underlines the distressed disgust I feel. My eyes dart around the caffine suppliers shop seeing no one there to witness my presence with the colony of fat chains.

One of the first things out of my mouth is a recognition of a design pattern. Jelly belly asks me to explain the pattern even as I used it in a sentence to illustrate a key point. This would be the first shining sentence of my interview and one that I almost didn’t finish as he leaped on a word for me to define. As I take a breath and start to expand on this concept, he interrupts again and flexes his chubby arms. This act almost has me in tears for he looks like a character out of “Christmas Story” when the kid is all bundled up for a winter adventure and can no longer hold his hands to his sides. Then I fixated my view on his chin. His little chin fair seems to be in the blooming season. Little tuffs of missed shaved hairs sprout in odd patches that cause a dimpling effect on these soft rolling inverted hills.

This heart-attack-waiting-to-happen would soon become my superior. Superior in what, I am still trying to figure out. I have a resolution of speaking only a single word to him at a time. “How are you today?” I reply with “Fine.” In a session of being lectured on my attendance and with several baits to probe me out, I only produced a single word. This single word was used for ever response. “Okay.” Oh the frustration on his face. Listen up fat man, I know your game. I do not wish to play it. This is deemed the authority in our modern society. How can I view this as authority when all I see is the stack-o-white-wall-tires guy rolling down a hill unable to right himself while the whole time he is scream for butter. “Butter! I need some fucking butter! Crisco! Something! Gods have mercy!” he yells in fury as he plummets down an incline, snapping right into his car. See, the butter is not for his stomach to digest, well, not at the moment. It is used to lubricate a graceful entrance into his vehcile without scraps and bruises. Now I am sure on the drive home he licks it off and thus digests it.