Celebrity Chef Zombie Apocalypse
It was the middle of the afternoon and Robert Turner was busy taking in the finer points of his boss’s latest incentive scheme.
“You’ve got seven days,” his boss was saying. “If you haven’t got what I want by then, you’re fired. Got that? Fired!”
Robert’s boss was an ass-hole who loved nothing more than to point his finger at his staff and tell them they were fired, so Robert knew his boss wasn’t bluffing. He did his best to appear positive.
“Yes, Geoff, I’ve got it. I’ll think of something, don’t worry.”
His boss smiled.
“I’m not worried. You’re the one who should be worrying, not me. It’s your job that’s on the line.”
Robert felt his guts twist into a knot.
“You’re right Geoff,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m the one who should be worrying, not you.”
As Robert stood up to leave, his boss smiled again, “Oh, one more thing, Robert, run along and get me a cup of coffee, will you? There’s a good chap.”
“Of course, Geoff,” Robert said meekly.
He went into the corridor and bought a coffee from the vending machine, white with two sugars, just how his boss liked it. He paid for it with his own money, as he always did, in a vain attempt to curry favour. His boss’s coffee habit was costing Robert twenty-five pounds every week. He knew he ought to ask his boss for the money to pay for the drink but he couldn’t. The pattern was now too firmly established to break it.
Freddy Barnes was hanging around near the vending machine. He grinned when he saw Robert.
“Paying for our boss’s coffee again, are we Robert?” He asked.
“Geoff paid for mine this time,” he said. “We take it in turns.”
“Course you do,” he replied, his voice laced with sarcasm.