Johann Bestowrous sat with his arms crossed. He sat in his office, his occupation being a time travel agent. Not the time travel of science fiction, but the more efficient exercise of watching and guiding the time that passed. And it did; slowly and verily, tried and true.
In various interpretations of human expression, when hands are not in their natural, relaxed position, the bearer of arms is said to be uncomfortable. This was a peculiar thing, for he was in the presence of no one. Why would he be uncomfortable in this habitat?
Rhetorical questions were given unto himself, but he, ignorant to the fine print, gave answers to every single one, the only exception being his answers ended in a cocktail of exclamation points and question marks. Never a period.
He did not bother with his perils; he stayed true to his business, the job he made a living of. He hoped for a raise.
And in order to achieve this raise, he had to request it from a man who was not only his good friend, but his authoritative figure. His boss, Jesus, was set to meet him at 12:15 for a luncheon.
In his reality, distant from our own, it was 12:17.
It was not as if he did not figure Jesus would be late, for he always seemed to be going by a different set of standards then anyone else around the office. It was just that he was frantically thinking of a smooth transition from buddy-buddy conversation to give-me-money conversation. He had nothing.
Impromptu begging being his only option, he gave up on focused thinking and stared out into his massive window which, in any other circumstance, he would have had his back against. He saw the roofs of distant skyscrapers; he saw each and every window pane on every industrial abode, but never a face to any. He looked down on most. He thought of nothing.
He heard something. It was his friend-boss. It was about time.
“Jesus, geeze, it’s about time. You ready?” said the employee in a familiar tone provoking familiar thoughts to his wonderfully familiar friend.
“Oh, sorry Johann, the Executives had called me and you know how They are…” said Jesus the Familiar.
“What is it this time?” Johann inquired, now playing the role best portrayed by the Oprah’s, Dr. Phil’s, and garbage bins.
“Nothing, man, nothing. Let’s… let’s just get going… I am hungry,” said Jesus, forming his own little barrack from internal grief.
“No, no wait. I’m not ready,” Johann said, his face twitching and ticking like a nervous wreck of a clock, “I got a couple of questions.”
“Johann.” Jesus glared at him, “Stop with the questions. Honestly, man, you treat me like a wishing well… a slot machine… a freaking fortune cookie. You are just throwing all your loose change at me and the thing is, man, it hurts. You’re stonin’ me with these rusty, useless pennies. You’re stonin’ me.”
JESUS WITH THE DRAMATIC SPEECH.
“Learn to catch then.”
JOHANN WITH THE REBUTTAL
“Johann, you’ve asked for a…” a pause was inserted to avoid any unnecessary vulgarity, “a… raise every…” yet another pause the Public Relations department would smile broadly at, “every... time we go to lunch. I don’t even know why I say yes anymore, man. You even make me pay for the meal.”
Jesus quickly took his pulse and wiped the budding sweat from his forehead.
“But you offer to pay every time…” Johann said, sheepishly.
“That’s common courtesy and you know it. You’re supposed to refuse. You’re supposed to pay for me… c’mon now.”
Jesus wrote the book on common courtesy and etiquette.
“Oh.”
A dramatic pause ensued. You could literally hear the time Johann was supposed to be hawking down pass by both these industrial pawns’ heads.
“So…” Johann was fearless. His arms crossed, his eye brows furrowed, he would now push the proposal across the table “… uh… can I have a raise?”
“Ask me tomorrow.” Jesus said.
What was this? Some kind of estranged rehearsal? A re-run of some hilarious sitcom that never got old?
“So what are you in the mood for today?” Johann asked. He, too, was feeling a tad hungry.
“Anything but the sacraments, I am tired of those.” Jesus said, giving off a little smirk.
“Chinese?”
“Too light.”
“Thai?”
“Same deal.”
“Indian?”
“I am not a big fan of spice.”
“Pizza?”
“Bingo.”
So then these two people, employee and employer, walked out of Mr. Bestowrous’ office as two close friends, one having a lot more leverage in the patience department than the other. They had their pizza. They returned to their work, only to await the next day, both crossing their fingers with the utmost sincerity and intensity. Johann hoping for his raise. Jesus hoping for his free meal.
These were two massive walls built with little to no room for growth, but you never know… now do you? One might budge a little.
(didn't plagiarise: authored)