Guys Being Dudes: Canned

Guys Being Dudes: Canned

The elevator doors pinged open as it arrived on the twelfth floor. He stuck only his head out of the double doors, looking left and right. He was late for work. This time by only 34 minutes. He was on the look-out for his insane supervisor who was sure to castrate him if he found him sneaking in late, yet again.

He quickly and quietly hustled down the hallway to his office, his loafers squeaking on the shiny marble floor. He turned a sharp corner into his office, his shoulders relaxing as he threw his bag on the floor and slunk into his chair. He had started an incredibly disastrous habit of drinking a bottle of wine a night, and his brain pounded against his forehead as he started up his computer. He pulled a half-empty lemon lime Gatorade out of his bag and two Advil, taking a swig in attempt to start the healing process.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care about the job…he just didn’t care about the job. He had been forced into this by his parents, anyway. There was no chance that he was going to work at Merrill-Lynch forever. He was pretty much just pissing his time away here, especially because it meant that his parents wouldn’t completely cut him off. He had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle, and if spending 8 to 5 every weekday dicking around on the internet and bullshitting marketing projections secured that lifestyle, he was willing to do it.

He pulled out his phone and checked the trifecta. Twitter, Instagram, and Bumble. Last night he had pumped out an incredible McGregor/Mayweather tweet that was gaining some traction. 2 retweets and 12 favorites. Hell yeah.

He then thumbed through Instagram, taking mental notes on future vacation spots and double-tapping every pair of bikini-clad tits he saw. Apparently, Iceland was all the rage right now. When he grew tired of looking at all the Instagram and Skinny-tea models on his Explore page, he finally decided to pull up his email inbox.

His stomach dropped as he noticed an unread message from his supervisor. Fuck. He clicked on the message, which was rocking no subject. That was never good.

“See me in my office when you get in this morning. Thanks.”

OH FUCK. He was already so fucking late and now his supervisor was absolutely going to know. He had also just burned up another 20 minutes checking social media. He squeezed his eyes shut. Well, waiting would just make it worse.

His hands had immediately started sweating, and suddenly the tie around his neck felt more like a noose. He could practically hear the Funeral March playing in the background as he trudged down the hallway to his doom.

He arrived to a closed door. He took a deep breath and braced himself. He raised his arm to knock on the dense wood. Just before his knuckles could rap on the surface, the door swung open. It was his supervisor.

“Oh, it’s you. Yeah. I’ve been waiting a long time. Come in, this won’t take long.” He beckoned him to come into the room, always with the hand that sported that gaudy gold watch.

He sunk into a black-cherry leather chair that faced the expansive desk covered in papers. His supervisor sat across from him, making no eye contact as he did something on his computer.

Abruptly, he turned towards him.

“Listen, you and I both know you’ve been dicking around since you got here. In all honesty, we kept you around because your parents are important to the company. But here’s the thing – you haven’t done jack shit and you’ve been getting paid to do it. You’re late every single day. You show up smelling like a goddamn bottle of Jack. Your performance is…less than stellar.”

As this speech continued, he started getting tunnel vision. It sounded like his supervisor’s voice was getting farther and farther away. He could see his lips moving, but heard nothing.

“So…consider today your last day. HR will bring around your off-boarding paperwork. Okay. That’s all I had for you.” And with that, his supervisor spun his chair back towards his computer and started pounding on the keys.

He slowly stood up from the leather chair that had seemed to engulf him during his sentencing. He pushed down on the arms with both hands as he tried to steady himself and stand like a man. Realizing there was nothing he could do to remedy the situation, he slunk out of the room silently, as one does when he gets fired from a cushy job.

He didn’t know much, but he did know one thing for certain: Mom and dad could not find out about this.

Image via Shutterstock

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