Cabbage

Yesterday, I arrived early for the morning project meeting. The room was empty so I switched the air-con unit to freezing and then sat on the other side of the room with a cheeky childish chuckle.

A dude walked past the open door then jerked as if someone had poked at his chuff with a courgette.

He backed up and popped his head in, scanning the room.

I stared at him with a gnarly eyebrow raised. He looked like a Fingerer.

Fingerer completed his room scan and noticed me.

Aha! Project Planning session?

I gave him a curt nod. He was plainly a buffoon and I had no time for buffoons till I had had at least three coffees. He ignored my curtliness and sat beside me.

Oh goodness, is it me or is it cold?

I made a strangled harrumphing noise which could have been mistaken for agreement. It could also have been mistaken for the strident trumpeting of an angry walrus trying to put the frighteners on some annoying penguins.

Fingerer looked at his fingernails and then waved them in my direction.

I was gardening last night. Goodness, look at my nails!

I looked. They were filthy. I made a face as if being forced to eat overnight oats.

He gazed at me with a lopsided smile. I grudgingly twitched up a corner of my mouth.

Do you garden?

He asked.

Yeah, Carrots, potatoes, herbs, all that kind of...

CABBAGES!

He cut me off mid-sentence.

You should see my cabbages, they are utterly utterly incredible. I love my cabbages.

I nodded uncertainly. Fingerer seemed a little unhinged. Best not to engage lest he started dry-humping the furniture and throwing faeces at the walls. Cabbages indeed. Who likes cabbages?

Thankfully, more people started to arrive. Fingerer became quiet and doodled in his notepad. The meeting kicked off.

We were only a few minutes in when Fingerer surreptitiously slid his notepad in front of me.

On it was an exquisitely sketched cabbage.

Fancy one?

He whispered.

I looked up at him and creased my face, tilting my head to El Jefe who was burbling away at the top of the table like a Mountain stream.

Fingerer seemed oblivious.

I can bring you one in?

He whispered again.

I gave a brief nod of acceptance then turned my shoulder to him in the hope he would get the hint to shoosh.

A few minutes later, out of the corner of my eye I saw the notepad sliding over again. On it was written.

I turned and smiled with a reassuring nod thinking. Jings man, fuck off with the fucking cabbages.

The meeting came to an end.

Fingerer stood.

So, one cabbage for you. Anyone else for a cabbage?

Everyone looked at him like he had just skinned a baby deer and was wearing its red flesh whilst screaming Mummy!

I left, quickly, so as not to look like his friend.

Today I came into work whistling a happy tune with a coffee in my hand. I stopped at my desk and stared in horror at the greenish brown thing lurking on it.

It was a giant cabbage. It was mostly brown with strange bits clinging to it. It looked foul.

I gingerly moved it to the side, wincing at its cleggy feel.

Beside it was a post-it note.

CABBAGE DELIVERED! LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT MORE!

I looked at the hulking brown thing on my desk. It was minging. - Quaint Scots for disgusting.

On the way home I threw it in a bin and hoped fervently that I would never cross paths with Fingerer ever again.