Business Is Business
by James A. Stewart
Genre: Humour
Swearwords: A couple of strong ones.
Description: A conversation that's not what it seems.
_____________________________________________________________________
“If business is business, what is business?” Terry asks, referring to the yellowed sign above Abi’s head.
“Business is slow, Terry, that’s what it is.”
“Slow, sure. That doesn’t stop you working as quick as you can, though.”
Abi sighs. Terry is a talker; the kind of guy who thinks that because he’s a regular it gives him the right to waste her, and the other girls’, time with inane chit-chat. “Terry, are we done?”
Terry checks his watch. A Rolex. A leaving gift from his former colleagues at some behemoth of a bank, she can't remember which one. Abi laughs inwardly at the conceit of such materialistic bozos and how far they’ll go simply to get the same result she gets from her Mickey Mouse watch. She’d bought it when on holiday in Majorca eight years ago and still hadn’t needed to change the battery.
“Not yet. You got me on the clock?”
“Nope. I am just not a talker. If you want to share pointless observations about a sign then it’s Janice you are looking for. She’s the talker.”
“That’s how she got the stalker.” Terry laughs.
Abi frowns. “Not funny, Terry. That dude nearly killed Janice. And why? ‘cos she wouldn’t read a fucking leaflet about STD’s. Jesus. And you laugh. Janice is only just back on the job.”
“It was you who mentioned her,” Terry replies, crossing his arms in defiance.
“Yeah. But you took it too far. As usual.”
“What do you mean ‘as usual?’?”
“Nothing. Just sometimes you can be a bit much, Terry. You come here and pay handsomely, but expect preferential treatment. You’re not the only guy who flashes the cash you know...”
“But I am handsomest, you said it yourself,” Terry says, trying to lighten the mood.
“No. You pay handsomely. That’s it. You’re still an ugly cretin,” laughs Abi. “But, you tip well. So, if you want me to call you handsome, I will.”
“Say it then.”
“You’re a handsome bastard, Terry. The best looking customer we have.”
“You know, Abi, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were hitting on me. I might have to mention it to the boss.”
Abi rolls her eyes. It’s been a slow night. It was nights like this that made her evaluate her life; twenty-four, good looking, funny and well educated; her MA in English Literature proving about as worthwhile as the proverbial chocolate fireguard.
“I am my own boss. And you know it. What I do, I do on my terms and I am happy with my lot. Now, Terry, if you're done putting me off my work, I need to clean up. You know how I like the place to be spick and span for the punters.”
“Understood, Miss Bossy-boots.”
“Good.” Abi says before leaning over and pecking Terry on the cheek, “Can I get you anything else before I get the rubber gloves on?”
“Yeah. I'll have another lager, Doll. And one for yourself, you’ve earned it.”
Swearwords: A couple of strong ones.
Description: A conversation that's not what it seems.
_____________________________________________________________________
“If business is business, what is business?” Terry asks, referring to the yellowed sign above Abi’s head.
“Business is slow, Terry, that’s what it is.”
“Slow, sure. That doesn’t stop you working as quick as you can, though.”
Abi sighs. Terry is a talker; the kind of guy who thinks that because he’s a regular it gives him the right to waste her, and the other girls’, time with inane chit-chat. “Terry, are we done?”
Terry checks his watch. A Rolex. A leaving gift from his former colleagues at some behemoth of a bank, she can't remember which one. Abi laughs inwardly at the conceit of such materialistic bozos and how far they’ll go simply to get the same result she gets from her Mickey Mouse watch. She’d bought it when on holiday in Majorca eight years ago and still hadn’t needed to change the battery.
“Not yet. You got me on the clock?”
“Nope. I am just not a talker. If you want to share pointless observations about a sign then it’s Janice you are looking for. She’s the talker.”
“That’s how she got the stalker.” Terry laughs.
Abi frowns. “Not funny, Terry. That dude nearly killed Janice. And why? ‘cos she wouldn’t read a fucking leaflet about STD’s. Jesus. And you laugh. Janice is only just back on the job.”
“It was you who mentioned her,” Terry replies, crossing his arms in defiance.
“Yeah. But you took it too far. As usual.”
“What do you mean ‘as usual?’?”
“Nothing. Just sometimes you can be a bit much, Terry. You come here and pay handsomely, but expect preferential treatment. You’re not the only guy who flashes the cash you know...”
“But I am handsomest, you said it yourself,” Terry says, trying to lighten the mood.
“No. You pay handsomely. That’s it. You’re still an ugly cretin,” laughs Abi. “But, you tip well. So, if you want me to call you handsome, I will.”
“Say it then.”
“You’re a handsome bastard, Terry. The best looking customer we have.”
“You know, Abi, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were hitting on me. I might have to mention it to the boss.”
Abi rolls her eyes. It’s been a slow night. It was nights like this that made her evaluate her life; twenty-four, good looking, funny and well educated; her MA in English Literature proving about as worthwhile as the proverbial chocolate fireguard.
“I am my own boss. And you know it. What I do, I do on my terms and I am happy with my lot. Now, Terry, if you're done putting me off my work, I need to clean up. You know how I like the place to be spick and span for the punters.”
“Understood, Miss Bossy-boots.”
“Good.” Abi says before leaning over and pecking Terry on the cheek, “Can I get you anything else before I get the rubber gloves on?”
“Yeah. I'll have another lager, Doll. And one for yourself, you’ve earned it.”
About the Author
James A. Stewart hails from Croy near Glasgow where he lives with his bonnie wife and bairn. He is a member of Cumbernauld's Frontier Writers. More information about his writing can be found at http://jamesstewart13.wordpress.com.