– Part Three –
I don’t particularly remember what happened after I realized my predicament. Obviously, I got bit. But somehow I got from work back to my folks house. I felt like shit when I woke up, and I honestly thought that this was just a nightmare, and it was still the 18th, of March. The newspaper on the living room table dated the 18th, solidified that thought.
Crystal wasn’t sleeping next to me, which I was slightly concerned about. We sometimes fought when we were drinking, and when that happened Crystal would storm off in a drunken rage and catch a taxi home. The trade-off to that was that the drunken sex was amazing, if I managed to avoid pissing her off thoroughly, and the make-up sex was even better if I did cause her to run off.
I got out of bed, stretched and let out a grawn, which is a combination of a groan and a yawn, and can only be accomplished while stretching vigorously after staying in one position for too long, ala sleeping or long gaming sessions. Once I had finished my grawn, I stood up and got dressed for work. I totally couldn’t be fucked having a shower that morning, so I sprayed on a liberal amount of deodorant.
I had three day old stubble, but I didn’t have time to shave so I’d have to go with the rugged look today. I splashed water through my hair, to give it at least some form of style. I Grabbed the only clean-ish work shirt I had available, sprayed it with what was left in my deodorant can and headed downstairs.
Nigel encouraged his staff to make up their own sayings on their shirts, and I’d seen quite a few good ones like “Hell is where the heat is” with a little r above the A and the T with that funny little ^ symbol below it. But the one I had wanted to pick said “Jesus loves you. But the Devil gives you the cool shit!”, I’d seen a shirt with that saying in a Comic Book Store, in Santa Monica when I had a holiday in the States, but for some random reason I didn’t buy it.
I’d been kicking myself ever since then, so when Nigel said he was cool with his staff being “creative” I knew exactly what I was going to write on there. Apparently, religion didn’t apply to this creative licence at Hell, which I found highly frustrating and mildly ironic, don’t you think?
With no luck in finding the elusive keys, I decided that perhaps in my drunken state last night I’d either driven home and left them in the car, or left them in the keyhole on the front door, which had happened on more than one occasion. I opened the door, and my car wasn’t there.
I next called North Harbour Taxi’s, and get that stupid IVR robot, which tells me my address (I think I know where I live you stupid fucking robot – but thanks anyway) and that a taxi will be there shortly. And by shortly, we all know they mean at a minimum, you’re looking at forty five minutes.
Knowing that I have some extra time available, I decided to have a shower, as I did smell a little bit fresh. I raced up to the bathroom, and turned on the shower. I still can’t be fucked having a shave, but I should brush my teeth, I thought to myself; I run the tap in the sink, and at this moment I still have not looked at myself in the mirror.
It takes a few moments more for this to happen, as I dick around between the bathroom and my room, fully making the most of the extra time made available to me by ordering the taxi. But when I finally do look into the mirror, my whole world comes crashing down before my milky dead eyes.