“What does that mean?”, the writer replies as he wipes the sweat from his brow.
“It means that I am tired of you just complaining–I´m leaving.”
“But, you aren´t going to help?”
“I helped you get this work and I´ll pay you an honest wage for your time. Besides that, I am not going to stick around here.”
“You haven´t planted a single tree–I´ve done all the work.”
I pause; he´s not taking this well or understanding what I´m saying.
“If you abuse people, like me”, I reply as I sigh, “they leave–at least, they should.”
“But, I´m not doing that–I´m just joking around and having fun.”
“It´s not fun to me”, I reply as I turn around and take a step towards the spacejet, “that´s why I am leaving you. I respect myself. I won´t be treated this way–if you abuse me, it is on you. If I stay, it is on me.”
Bilta opens his mouth to say something; yeah, whatever, jerk. I put the key in the door on the spacejet; I open it; I hit power; the spacejet starts; moments later, I take a right to enter the space highway; I turn up the radio; I recline the seat; bye.
“You forgot to get the orange soda from the store”, my wife says as she places the digitalbrocoli on the kitchen table.
“Dorinto doesn´t have orange soda–the food vendors are on strike.”
“Too bad”, she replies as she opens the oven and pulls the digitalturkey legs out.
“Yeah”, I reply as I reach over for the jug of jamaica, “we´ll be alright.”
“But, will we?”, HR replies as she turns her head from the birdfeeder to me.
“OMG”, I reply as I throw my hands up in the air, “you just don´t stop talking–it´s always something with you?”
“I just don´t think that you try”, she replies as she reaches over for the digitalbrocoli.
“You know”, I reply as I roll my eyes, “you just don´t even know.”
“I know that there is orange soda on Planet JMWUE”, she replies as she puts a scoop of food onto her plate, “I know because I saw it today.”
I pause; what was she doing there?
“And why were you there?”
“Um…”, she replies as she starts to stammer, “school project…. Yeah.”
“Yeah, whatever”, I reply as I turn my head to my wife, “you can go if you want, HR.”
“Dad”, she replies as she turns her head back to me, “do the right thing.”
I pause; I know what she means.
I get up from the chair at the kitchen table; I turn to the hallway.
“Bilta”, I say as I hand him the platter of hot food, “I know that you are working hard–here´s a little something. An act of kindness.”
“Thanks boss!”, he replies as he wirpes the sweat from his brow.
“Yeah, whatever”, I say as I turn around and take a step towards the spacejet.
0.928456 nanoseconds later, I place the orange soda on the kitchen table.
“Thanks for doing the right thing, dad.”
“Yeah, whatever, HR”, I reply as I shrug and reach over for a hot digital turkeyleg.