The tired and sad club

Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks I’m gonna strangle someone soon, if someone doesn’t read the board I’m gonna flip out and tell the staff what I think of them then fuck off home. Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks it’s all bollocks. As I watch the customers dribbling and scoffing into their pints with their appalling witty banter I stand here a king because I’m a member of the club. I’m actually the only member of the club come to think of it. That club, the only club, the tired and sad club.
Yes I am a king in my own right, they think their special but there just big twats. Today I’m gonna smile because frankly I can’t be arsed with people. They can all suck a chode. It fills me with a pleasant feeling knowing that my club is having its chode sucked on the regs by enthusiastic wankers who know nothing of being tired and sad. Hiding in the cider bar the first punter shuffles to the bar and looks over the rim of his crusty glasses and asks for a taster of a red lager.
Sigh. “ yes urm nice bouquet “ he says.
Siiiigh. I almost puke from his bullshit and agree with him completely. “Yes your right sir you are a complete wanker, well done” I think to myself. The glass is heavy so I scratch my balls and wipe it on my t-shirt. God I’m tired. So very tired. I wonder when I’m going to win the lottery so I can lie down for ages. I turn to give the man his change and buff his change into his pint. “Winning” I mumble under my breath and briefly stare and grin into space with a raised eyebrow I stare at the man and want to shout “down it you cunt” into his face… but I’m far to tired for such nonsense and it would just be sad.
With my sweaty ball hands I hastily fumble another pint into his hands and wonder if the bouquet smells slightly cheesier than before.
I think about cheese for a while and sandwiches, fuck making a cheese sandwich, cheese sandwiches are long.
Another customer approaches, so I panic and shift away from the cider bar back to my station by the ipod. Some cunt is playing Alanis morrisette so I Que the cranberries and grimace into space for the remainder of the track. My song starts to play and I get a bit emosh.
I slink back down the bar with my hands in my pocket scratching my balls. I find the gap between the fridge and jam myself in-between.
I’m safe in my gap. Yes the gap is good. Im safe in my gap. This is my gap, I glare at staff as they pass, this is my gap. I love gap.
I am the lord of gap.
Pressing myself against the side of the fridge I let out a quiet and under exaggerated moan.
And scan the area for signs of enthusiasm.
I find none. This day is turning out better than I thought.
Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever witness the embarrassing skip of enthusiasm again. Hopefully not in this lifetime. As I survey the surrounding area I wheeze into my inhaler proud that today was a particularly tired and sad endeavour and that I should finish work soon and can sit down.