Operator
010
I remember, when I was smaller, my mum used to sit me down on her lap and read me the same story from the same collection of books. Nancy Drew and the Secret of the Old Clocks.
Until I was about twelve, I didn’t understand any part of that story until my dad told her that stuff was only for pussies and he’d bring out his stack of Hustlers and read out the articles that had women, showing their boob jobs for the entire population of men to see. I personally thought it was sexist and demeaning, but to each their own, I guess.
Right now, I’m being dragged by the collar of this fucking flower printed jacket by this dirty haired freak and he’s babbling on about something that… I honestly could care less about.
“—And we can get married and have kids and a dog and name it Spot ‘cause I’ve always liked the name Spot and—“
Actually, I really can’t understand his voice right now. So to me, it sounds more like;
“—And we can blah blah blah and blah blah and blah blah and blah blah blah and blah blah blah blah blah and—“
Come to think of it, that’s what everything I don’t really enjoy, sounds like. Just a bunch of words that I can’t understand, so it sounds like they’re talking complete gibberish and it makes me wanna sock them in the face for being so damn annoying.
“FRANK!”
I cringe. “What.”
Gerard only gives me this cheeky smile that makes me want to smack him. “Nothing.”
Now I know there’s a law against killing people, but what about killing people that are basically just big, retarded assholes. Because this Gerard character is really starting to piss me off, with his constant and non stop talking, his smart ass comments and just his perky persona in general. It’s really starting to put a damper on my damn pessimistic parade.
“What’cha thinking about?” he asks me, breaking my train of thought for the second time today. I don’t know how to talk to a person like him, so I mumble.
“Nothing.”
He blinks. “Oh. Well it looked like something was troubling you, yenno? My mum says that I’m good at listening—“
“That’s nice.”
Our conversation withers away and he decides that we’re not going to the Casa de blah blah and instead, his direction swerves to the right and we’re walking to West Hudson Park. There’s been some murders and some dead bodies found in the pond, but does Gerard care? Nope, so we just keep trudging along.
I give a loud ‘omph!’ as I collide into his rather… muscle-y back and I land on my butt in the cold, wet April grass.
“Ew,” is the only thing I say as I bring my hand up from the ground to see loose pieces of dead grass and dirt on my hands. I look up and squint as the sun is just beginning to tick into the afternoon and I call to Gerard, “why’d we stop, asshole?”
He apparently doesn’t hear me, but he does turn around and frowns while raising a brow at my place in the ground.
“Fancy a picnic?” he asks, eyes lighting up and the same huge ass grin adorns his face. He brings out a reed woven basket out of nowhere. “I’ve got the supplies!”
‘Oh lord,’ I think, slapping a hand to my forehead before dragging it downwards and stretching my eyelids downwards. I look to him and I could’ve sworn I saw this puppy dog look on his face, with the big, hazel watery eyes and the droopy, pouting lips.
“Fine.”
-
So we’ve got the blanket strewn out in the cold wet grass now, but it’s water resistant, so our asses don’t get wet. Apparently, he’s had this whole thing figured out and has had that picnic basket for our entire walk here.
He attempts to spoon feed me, claiming that we’re all of a sudden a couple now, but I told him that if he ever shoved that utensil in my face again, I’d be shoving it up his ass. He shut up pretty well after that.
“So,” he starts, his mouth full of bbq chicken that his mum made, that actually isn’t all that bad. “What kind of music are you into?”
I blink and raise a brow, taking a forkful of what I think is KFC coleslaw and sticking it into my mouth, “why?”
“Eh, no reason,” he shrugs, chewing and swallowing. “I just wanted to know what to get you for our one month anniversary.”
I nearly choke on the disgusting mayonnaise and cabbage salad. I cough and I sputter and I quickly reach out for the water bottle that appears in my view. I unscrew the cap and take a swig of it and breathe heavily from my lack of air.
“What?” I gasp, breathing deeply, “our what?”
His entire faces screws up, “y’know, our anniversary. We’ve been together for about three weeks now and it’s nearing our forth. I was gonna get you a CD or something for our celebration.”
I feel my eye twitch and I desperately look anywhere but his face. Our anniversary? Our’s? Since when have we been together? I decide to ask just that.
“Gerard,” I growl because I can hear him humming a cheerful tune. “Gerard!” His head turns in my direction.
“Since when… since when have we been dating?”
He looks at me with this ‘what the fuck are you talking about?’ face before his cheeks roll up and I can see his little ticky tack teeth again. “Since the middle of March, silly.”
“The middle of March!” I go, throwing my arms up in the air, “of course, how stupid of me!”
His hand makes his way to my hair and he ruffles it like I’m some little kid. “It’s okay,” he tells me. “Sometimes I forget too.”
My only response to that is to slap my hand against my forehead. “You dumbshit.”
-
“We’re a couple.”
“No Gerard, we’re not.”
“Yes, we’re dating.”
“No, we aren’t.”
“Then what was that, back at the park?”
“A nice, friendly and not relationship related whatsoever, meal between two friends who have just met today face to face for the first time.”
“I see. Then what was that kiss?”
“What kiss?”
“The kiss.”
“…Excuse me.”
“Y’know, the kiss in my dream.”
“Dreams aren’t real, Gerard.”
“Yeah, well mine are.”
“Of course they are.”
I decided to drop the piece of lettuce inside of my mouth, gently place my fork down and walk away when I first heard him start talking about our so called sex life together, but he goes ahead, packs up everything and follows me anyway.
“So where we going?” he asks. I don’t answer.
“Are we going to your house?” I still say nothing.
“Are we gonna go have sex?” My fingers are pinching my nose bridge right now.
“Will you do that hot dirty talking thing as you undress me, like you did before?” I can’t breathe through my nose anymore.
“Will you pin me against the wall and kiss me before you throw me on your bed and have your way with my lusciously sexy body?”
“…Will you please shut the fuck up?”
“Depends,” he says, “on whether or not you’ll give me a chance to give you a blow job first.”
I’ve got to have broken the record for having the most times of face palms in one day.
Until I was about twelve, I didn’t understand any part of that story until my dad told her that stuff was only for pussies and he’d bring out his stack of Hustlers and read out the articles that had women, showing their boob jobs for the entire population of men to see. I personally thought it was sexist and demeaning, but to each their own, I guess.
Right now, I’m being dragged by the collar of this fucking flower printed jacket by this dirty haired freak and he’s babbling on about something that… I honestly could care less about.
“—And we can get married and have kids and a dog and name it Spot ‘cause I’ve always liked the name Spot and—“
Actually, I really can’t understand his voice right now. So to me, it sounds more like;
“—And we can blah blah blah and blah blah and blah blah and blah blah blah and blah blah blah blah blah and—“
Come to think of it, that’s what everything I don’t really enjoy, sounds like. Just a bunch of words that I can’t understand, so it sounds like they’re talking complete gibberish and it makes me wanna sock them in the face for being so damn annoying.
“FRANK!”
I cringe. “What.”
Gerard only gives me this cheeky smile that makes me want to smack him. “Nothing.”
Now I know there’s a law against killing people, but what about killing people that are basically just big, retarded assholes. Because this Gerard character is really starting to piss me off, with his constant and non stop talking, his smart ass comments and just his perky persona in general. It’s really starting to put a damper on my damn pessimistic parade.
“What’cha thinking about?” he asks me, breaking my train of thought for the second time today. I don’t know how to talk to a person like him, so I mumble.
“Nothing.”
He blinks. “Oh. Well it looked like something was troubling you, yenno? My mum says that I’m good at listening—“
“That’s nice.”
Our conversation withers away and he decides that we’re not going to the Casa de blah blah and instead, his direction swerves to the right and we’re walking to West Hudson Park. There’s been some murders and some dead bodies found in the pond, but does Gerard care? Nope, so we just keep trudging along.
I give a loud ‘omph!’ as I collide into his rather… muscle-y back and I land on my butt in the cold, wet April grass.
“Ew,” is the only thing I say as I bring my hand up from the ground to see loose pieces of dead grass and dirt on my hands. I look up and squint as the sun is just beginning to tick into the afternoon and I call to Gerard, “why’d we stop, asshole?”
He apparently doesn’t hear me, but he does turn around and frowns while raising a brow at my place in the ground.
“Fancy a picnic?” he asks, eyes lighting up and the same huge ass grin adorns his face. He brings out a reed woven basket out of nowhere. “I’ve got the supplies!”
‘Oh lord,’ I think, slapping a hand to my forehead before dragging it downwards and stretching my eyelids downwards. I look to him and I could’ve sworn I saw this puppy dog look on his face, with the big, hazel watery eyes and the droopy, pouting lips.
“Fine.”
-
So we’ve got the blanket strewn out in the cold wet grass now, but it’s water resistant, so our asses don’t get wet. Apparently, he’s had this whole thing figured out and has had that picnic basket for our entire walk here.
He attempts to spoon feed me, claiming that we’re all of a sudden a couple now, but I told him that if he ever shoved that utensil in my face again, I’d be shoving it up his ass. He shut up pretty well after that.
“So,” he starts, his mouth full of bbq chicken that his mum made, that actually isn’t all that bad. “What kind of music are you into?”
I blink and raise a brow, taking a forkful of what I think is KFC coleslaw and sticking it into my mouth, “why?”
“Eh, no reason,” he shrugs, chewing and swallowing. “I just wanted to know what to get you for our one month anniversary.”
I nearly choke on the disgusting mayonnaise and cabbage salad. I cough and I sputter and I quickly reach out for the water bottle that appears in my view. I unscrew the cap and take a swig of it and breathe heavily from my lack of air.
“What?” I gasp, breathing deeply, “our what?”
His entire faces screws up, “y’know, our anniversary. We’ve been together for about three weeks now and it’s nearing our forth. I was gonna get you a CD or something for our celebration.”
I feel my eye twitch and I desperately look anywhere but his face. Our anniversary? Our’s? Since when have we been together? I decide to ask just that.
“Gerard,” I growl because I can hear him humming a cheerful tune. “Gerard!” His head turns in my direction.
“Since when… since when have we been dating?”
He looks at me with this ‘what the fuck are you talking about?’ face before his cheeks roll up and I can see his little ticky tack teeth again. “Since the middle of March, silly.”
“The middle of March!” I go, throwing my arms up in the air, “of course, how stupid of me!”
His hand makes his way to my hair and he ruffles it like I’m some little kid. “It’s okay,” he tells me. “Sometimes I forget too.”
My only response to that is to slap my hand against my forehead. “You dumbshit.”
-
“We’re a couple.”
“No Gerard, we’re not.”
“Yes, we’re dating.”
“No, we aren’t.”
“Then what was that, back at the park?”
“A nice, friendly and not relationship related whatsoever, meal between two friends who have just met today face to face for the first time.”
“I see. Then what was that kiss?”
“What kiss?”
“The kiss.”
“…Excuse me.”
“Y’know, the kiss in my dream.”
“Dreams aren’t real, Gerard.”
“Yeah, well mine are.”
“Of course they are.”
I decided to drop the piece of lettuce inside of my mouth, gently place my fork down and walk away when I first heard him start talking about our so called sex life together, but he goes ahead, packs up everything and follows me anyway.
“So where we going?” he asks. I don’t answer.
“Are we going to your house?” I still say nothing.
“Are we gonna go have sex?” My fingers are pinching my nose bridge right now.
“Will you do that hot dirty talking thing as you undress me, like you did before?” I can’t breathe through my nose anymore.
“Will you pin me against the wall and kiss me before you throw me on your bed and have your way with my lusciously sexy body?”
“…Will you please shut the fuck up?”
“Depends,” he says, “on whether or not you’ll give me a chance to give you a blow job first.”
I’ve got to have broken the record for having the most times of face palms in one day.