Bob's nostrils widened while he gave Heather a disgusting look. He then abruptly turned around and stomped out of Heather's office, not uttering a single reply.
Heather had to fight back the urge to laugh out loud and hardy. So that’s what it takes to get him to shut up. Heather smiled wickedly. Sometimes she surprised herself with her own wit.
Bob was one of the sales associates, Heather had been hired to assist with typing, copying, filing, or anything else he could legally ask her to do. Bob was an average sized man with curly blond hair, blue eyes, and a very light complexion. Some people might have conjectured that he was a pure Aryan descend, however his body was just shaped too oddly.
Bob's upper torso and arms were extraordinarily long compared to his stubby, pigeon-shaped legs, and although he didn’t look fat otherwise, his stomach was tremendous. Bob had just recently reached the tender age of forty-five, but some establishments already offered him a senior discount, which pleased Bob tremendously, as he also was a cheapskate.
Bob’s favorite activity was talking. This was probably the reason why he worked in sales. However, as of late, he wasn’t selling much of anything to anyone, especially not to Heather, as Heather had already learned everything there was to know about Bob, on the first day at her job.
On that day, Bob started out the morning with whining about his failed relationships. There was this story about his ex-girlfriend, who he’d lived with for more than half a century before she’d decided to break up their relationship without giving him even the slightest forewarning. "Luckily I’d come home early that day and found my box of belongings before the garbage man had a chance to carry them away." Bob had reported. Then there was this story about his ex-wife, who’d divorced him twenty years ago, and still was trying her damnedest to keep him away from her and anyone else she cherished. "Women just don’t know how to treat me right!" Heather remembered him complaining. That same day Bob had asked Heather for a date, and after she’d politely declined, he had accused her of being a lesbian.
When Bob wasn’t talking about his problems with the opposite sex, he tried to engage anyone he could in his verbal bigotry attacks, directed towards anyone, whom he though, was slightly out of the norm. For reasons unknown to Heather, Bob thought she’d shared his hatred, racist, or stereotypical views, once acclaiming that "Germans like her, had done the right thing, when they had been trying to rid Germany of all the Jews, gypsies or other weirdos."
"Hey, Heather," Bob shouted across several cubicles, "did you like Hitler?"
"Sure did!" Heather replied, "Hitler was my dad."
"Hah, hah, hah!" Heather heard Bob slamming his hands on top of his work top, while guffawing his loudest. At the same time, Heather couldn't help her imagination seeing his fat belly move up and down with each laugh, while bouncing off the bottom of his work surface.
Almost daily, Bob would talk about his misfortunes, totally oblivious of the fact that he was repeating himself over-and-over again. Nevertheless, his favorite conversations were still about the most vulnerable people, who he thought, deserved to be made fun of.
"Do you have a green card?" Bob continued his nonsense blabber? “Can I see it?"
"That’s none of your business!" Heather replied somewhat angrily, knowing, he was perfectly aware of the fact she’d been living in the USA for more than twenty years.
"Did you hear the latest?" Bob exclaimed to Heather not much later on that day. "Some of our coworkers found some matches that belonged to Peter. The matches came from a gay club in town. I betcha Peter is gay!"
"Nah, that doesn’t proof anything." Heather replied calmly. "He could’ve asked someone on the road for a match."
"Ach," Bob sounded disappointed. "I guess you could be right."
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