ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
“What the fuck is that?” asked Georgia Frost as she came back into the accounts department.
The drone of office chairs wheeling back over the plastic carpet protectors filled the room.
“Oh Jesus Christ!” said one faceless, robot of an accounts director.
“That’s fucking disgusting!” yelled another.
Liberty Bell, the office dog, had just vomited in the middle of the room – as if she was meaning to do it on purpose.
The medium-sized Beagle-mix was now sheepishly hiding under her owner’s standing desk.
“For fuck’s sake, Liberty Bell. What the hell did you eat? It looks like a bunch of stock cubes soaked in a melted rainbow paddle-pop!”
The four city workers shot each other looks.
Who was going to be the hero and clean up the vomit?
As the seconds turn to minutes, it seemed that nobody was going to be stepping up to the plate.
The vomit was going to slowly but surely dissolve into the high-trafficked and rapidly-browning carpet until Liberty Bell’s owner came back from lunch.
Around 2pm this afternoon, her owner did return from lunch and was immediately greeted by greasy looks and a room-temperature slurry of dog breakfast.
Silvio Ernesto, the man who stands as he uses a computer to do things in return for money, immediately scolded Liberty Bell – who had since forgot she even vomited in the first place – and went into the shitters to get a ream of TP to begin the cleanup.
But much to Silvio’s chagrin, he discovered Liberty Bell has also shit at the foot of the men’s room door.
“Fuck,” he said.
More to come.
