The Ticket, Part III

A Dear Winifred Tale

     Oh s**t, she'd told her father-in-law she quit; also mentioning that he could 'suck it!'  Whoops; She still couldn't believe her slope-headed husband had picked today, of all days, to fly right and clean up a little.  Now, because of his dip-shittedness, she'd have to don her knee pads and kiss her father-in-law's backside.  She's almost rather have slivers of white-hot metal jammed under her finger nails than apologize and beg him, but it had to be done.

 

 

     "Come in," sounded Bartholomew II's whiney voice, and Winifred girded her intestines for the upcoming s**t-storm her father-in-law was sure to launch her way.  She plastered a fake smile on her face and opened the door.  She hadn't taken her second step in, when he glanced up and snorted,

 

     "Pfff; it's you; what now?"

 

     "Can I talk to you, sir?"

 

     "Oh s**t, when you start out by calling me sir instead of dickhead, I know this can't be good!"

 

     Winifred bit back the sarcastic comment which immediately came to mind, and instead said, "Sir, I realize I may have come across a little harshly, but..."

 

         "Ah little harshly?  Try b***h-on-wheels harshly; although I've come to expect nothing else from you."

 

     It was all she could do not to launch herself at his throat, but somehow she managed not to.  "Anyway, I just wanted to let you know I didn't mean it and I'd really like my job back."

 

     He stared at her and she could see the emotions that were playing through his mind etched upon his face.  On and on went his staring, until Winifred started feeling very uncomfortable.  Just when she'd decided to back out of his office slowly, he said,

 

     "You f****d it up, didn't you?  What'd you do, accidently lose the ticket?"

 

     "No, I just decided all that money would change me, and I'd rather stay myself and help people.  It really is rewarding work."

 

     "Bullshit; do you expect me to believe for one second that after all the bitching and complaining you do about, "these slop-headed, in-bred, living-under-a-bridge, moron-people," now you've suddenly changed your mind and want to move in with them?"

 

     Once again, she had to fight back the impulse to take a dump on his desk, and instead replied, "I never meant those things, I really am a people-person."  Puke!

 

     Once he stopped laughing, he answered, "Well, whatever the reasons,

people do seem to enjoy your responses, although I don't see it, so I suppose I'll have to take you back, but every ounce of my being is screaming don't!"

 

     Blow me, loser-king! she though viciously, but replied only, "Thank you sir."  Oh, was that ever hard to choke out of her frowning mouth!

 

 

     Once again, she sat at her torture-desk and banged out bullshit responses to bullshit 'problems'.  She wished she could be grateful to King Knob, as she now thought of dear father-in-law, but it was hard when all you thought of was a whining bag of feces when reading reader's letters.  Just then, that unpleasant thought was interrupted by the buzz of her intercom.  Secretly grateful for the break, she flipped the button and snapped,

 

     "Yeah, what is it Bernice? "

 

     "Oh, yeah, I was just wondering if I can get you a cup of coffee?" or a glass of arsenic, you crab-a*s battle ax!  Bernice thought to herself.  She'd been bitter when she'd heard that the old dried-up sea hag was retuning to work.   She'd been so ecstatic when she'd heard she was leaving, and so devastated when she's learned that Windbag Winifred had changed her mind.  It just wasn't fair; throwing her a lifeline on Winifred's Sea of S**t, where she'd been gagging on her chunks for seemingly forever, only to find out the rope had snagged on reality and snapped, plunging her once again into the brown water.  She should have known it was too good to be true.

 

     "You mean to tell me you interrupted me for that?"

 

     Bernice could feel the venom rising up, and her face turn scarlet; oh, how she hated that talking bag of crap!  No matter what Winifred said, there was always a small bit of disgust, or a lot, dripping from the hole in her face.

 

     "I'm sorry," yeah, sorry you didn't choke on a chicken bone, you babbling freak-show woman! she added to herself.  "I just thought you might be a little tired, this being the middle of the afternoon."  Why, oh why is Winifred back?

 

 

     S**t on wheat toast!  thought Winifred.  She glared at the poster of Dear Abby hanging on the wall, a pattern of dark holes surrounding it.  She slid open a drawer of her office desk and removed three darts, with which she added holes in Dear Abby's face.  The famous face stared back at her impassively.  Hers was the face Winifred used to work up her anger.  She actually enjoyed giving advice to losers, but not Winifred.  She only did it for the money, which was the only reason she was back at this s**t-hole, and the very fact that she needed this job pissed her off so much she wouldn't have much need Dear Abby's face!    

 

The End

 

                

        

Reviews

[Vidya Bacchus]

Oh my I feel sorry for my girl there .Although she so deserves all that she got lol

[Michael Stevens]

I wouldn't feel too sorry for her; actually, she'd find it weak and sort of disgusting!

[Marie]

I guess Winifred is meant to be what she is. I won't use her own words to describe her, but those are the ones that say it all.

The darts being thrown at Dear Abby's face is a nice touch.

[Michael Stevens]

Thanks much Marie; and using her own words to describe Winifred is right on!