Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Philip Blake never cried, even as a child, when his father whipped him with a hickory switch. Then he married Sarah, and they had a daughter named Penny. Taking the swaddled baby from the nurse's hands, Philip felt tears welling up in his eyes for the first time. Philip tried to be a good husband and father, climbing the career ladder slowly but surely. In short, everything was fine until this guy appeared out of nowhere and became the head of the department. John Smith—is there a more banal name? He could just as well be called John Doe, American-style. How on earth did he get his job? If Philip were presented with this person's resume, he would think it was a joke.
Clean-shaven, with tousled dark brown hair and big brown eyes, John Smith looked like he had just graduated from university. He was even younger than Brian, yet he was already heading the department. It hurt Philip's pride, but he had long learned to hide his emotions. Nobody liked John Smith, though that was true for all bosses. People often left his office feeling down, especially Emma: John didn't like her coffee. Realizing her hopelessness, John shifted that responsibility onto Philip, who found it increasingly difficult to maintain a friendly facade daily. No, seriously, John Smith was a real pain in the ass.
"You're five minutes late," "This report is no good," "Make me a coffee"—Philip's ears were already drooping from him. John nitpicked him about everything. Philip had to redo documents multiple times—he would only come home late in the evening when Penny was already going to bed. Taking off his outerwear, Philip would sit on the edge of the bed and stroke his daughter's head until his wife called him for dinner.
John also stayed late at work, but rarely. On one of those days, Philip decided to invite him for a drink. Not out of kindness, but to win him over. John sat in his office, filling out some papers.
"What do you want?" he suspiciously stared at Philip.
"You must be tired, Mr Smith. How about we have a drink together?" Philip charmingly smiled. He didn't even have to convince John: he took off his jacket from the back of the chair, put it on, and followed Philip out of the office. It was hard to say what exactly tempted John—the opportunity to take a break from work or the desire to wet his throat.
The bar greeted them with Tom Petty's 'Mary Jane's Last Dance' and dimmed lights. John took a seat at the counter, and Philip had to sit next to him, even though there were free tables available. John surprised Philip with his ability to drink, and not just him. A group of young people approached them, and John got pulled into a drinking competition. Now Philip watched as his boss, dancing slightly, downed shot after shot. John had long taken off his jacket and tie, and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows. After John came out the winner, Philip helped him get dressed and called a taxi. Before getting into the car, John put his arm around Philip's neck, pulled him closer, and kissed him on the lips.
At first, Philip thought it was just European antics, but the next words from John, spoken in a playful tone, dispelled his doubts,
"Sorry, couldn't resist. Just don't tell your wife. She probably won't be thrilled."
