JANK

The Waiting Room

They say first impressions count, aye?

If tat's t' case then I'm screwed from t' beginnin'.

I'm nah exactly t' best lad in t' world but at least I have somethin' goin' fer me...

... Well at least I hope I do.

I've been' sittin' in tis warm waitin' room fer t' past two hours, hopin' to nail an internship at tis well payin' firm. Heard they're payin' four grand fer two months work over t' Summer...

... And I actually have t' qualifications fer it.

Sad Boy's here too. He tagged along fer t' ride. Sorta... well he's gonna try and get a place too.

Nah sure how far he's gonna get, tho'. He looks like t' human equivalent of a landfill site. Messy, smelly and untouchable.

T' lad beside him seems to have moved over toward t' fish tank. I can see t' other one holdin' his nose ever so discreetly so he doesn't offend him.

But it's nah like he cares much anymore.

His wrinkly blue shirt has stains runnin' down t' side, there are holes in t' pockets of his trousers, his shoes are scuffed and he hasn't even bothered takin' t' label off his jacket yet.

His face looks gaunt and pale, like a man three times his age. I can see some rot on t' top of his teeth formin', his skin's greasy lookin', rings tat would envy t' darkness of night have formed 'round his eyes.

T' slightly overgrown dark buzzcut, sideburns, chocolate brown eyes and those shiny piercings are his only redeeming features. They stick out like a sore thumb.

Ye wouldn't think tis guy was t' Son of a plastic surgeon and a lawyer. Nah in a million years.

I was floored when I found out his Dad was big Chuck tho' I sorta see some of t' similarities now.

He rolls his sleeves up and ushers fer me t' sit over beside him. Sinkin in to t' chair, he leans over and whispers into my ear: "Did ye remember my medication?"

He's a bit jumpy. Twitchin'. Desperate fer a hit. I can hear his organs thumpin' inside him, ready to implode through his bony body.

Sighin', I rummage 'round in my pockets fer a moment. I can hear some rattlin' by t' right side. It's PainKill, our locally sourced Vicodin knock off.

"Can ye slip me a few?" He frowns. "I know ye don't wanna do it, but I need this right now."

Openin' up t' lid, I pop two in his mouth when no-one's lookin'.

There we go. My good deed fer t' day done by four o'clock.

Glad tat sexy lass walked by when she did. Great distraction.

Lookin' at those arms, I dun think he needs another needle there.

Fer a while a' least... but nah doubt he'll get one.

Eventually.

Ye can still smell and see t' wounds from his previous benders. Looks like he tried to pick 'em too. T' metallic smell's pretty pungent. T' red scabs look unnervin'.

Despite bein' a zombie in a human body, Sad Boy can be pretty crafty at times. He knows how t' pull strings and make things work well fer himself.

He used to be top of his class in pretty much ev'rythin'. Had a flawless record. Enjoyed t' high life...

... 'Til it all came crashin' down on him in his final year of school.

He still managed t' pass all his GCSEs. And get t' HND in Music.

Somehow.

One of life's many mysteries...

Yawnin', he looks at me and asks: "When are we goin' in?" He knows we haven't moved up much in t' queue in t' past half hour.

Shruggin', I pour some smuggled whiskey in t' my mug filled wi' coffee and sip at it.

Sad Boy wants one too. Of course.

"Take it." I put less in his than I did mine. He doesn't need to be anymore outta it than he is at t' moment. He nods back as a thank ye. "Enjoy."

We watch t' room empty fer t' next hour. T' faces become faded memories and shadows of their former selves. Sad Boy listens to some music on his iPod 'cause he prolly left his phone at home.

Again.

So, now Doug can't lift us and we'll have to walk back home again. Unless t' buses run late t'night.

We have another cup of Irish Coffee. It's warmin' us up a bit inside.

A wee bit of a glow appears across our faces. Think I can see a faint smile across his lips too.

Sad Boy sets his cup inside mine and I give him a pat on t' shoulder.

Walkin' across t' room, I hear a smartass comment wit'in my earshot: "Are ye his Ma are somethin'?"

T' blonde looks shocked when I turn 'round on my way to face him. "Dun think I didn't hear ye." Edgin' closer, I stoop down to his level and ball up my fists. "I'm jus' tryin' to do him a favour as a mate. Now why dun ye mind yer own business before I deck ye?"

"... There's no call to threaten muh." He answers back as I throw my fists by my side. "I'm sorry. I don't want any trouble. Okay?"

"Alright Mate, I'm jus' a bit overprotective of him. He's goin' through some stuff at t' moment. He dun need people commentin' and addin' to it." Lookin' t' lad in t' eyes, I tell him. "I dun wanna hear ye say anythin' like tat again, okay?"

He nods. "Good luck."

Returnin' the gesture, I return to my seat and I finally see some excitement stir up inside Sad Boy's dead soul.

Numbers 67 and 68 have jus' beem called out.

Our numbers...

... Oh yeah.. they gave us all numbers.

Aye, how nice of them.

We both walk through t' doors into t' separate interview rooms. They're takin' us in batches of two. Three interviewers each, apparently.

'Jus as t' door slams behind me, I feel a sudden urge to do a massive, dirty poo ...

... Why now? Ye had all afternoon t' do tis!

I regret goin' to tat Burrito Bar...

... Maybe we should't have had a few pints wi' those Super Grande Deluxes...

... buh there's nah backin' out now...