Insults
by Brock Splawski
“Instagram,” Will said, “is nothing more than institutionalized bohemia.”
Will said that because he thought it would be smart. It wasn’t. Maybe the actual statement itself, devoid of context, was smart in a subjective sense. But there is no real place for a statement like that to be said, and have it received well in any decent company. And he said it in front of his own co-workers, sitting together for lunch.
Each one at the little conference table turned towards him. Derrick, Mike, and Jess. Three people whom he would have never known or hung out with in real life but brought together by the simple fact that they all needed money to survive.
Derrick sat closest to Will. He was the one who was talking about Instagram in the first place. He saw a friend’s post on some other site about The Social Dilemma and was saying how that made him uncomfortable.
Will thought Derrick would’ve gotten what he was saying. He was agreeing with Derrick, after all. But instead, he just got furrowed brows and slightly puckered lips.
Maybe Jess could have gotten it. She was sitting kitty-corner, had a tattoo on her left arm, and was generally the office ‘radical’ (meaning that she took a heavy interest in beer and electro-clash music, and occasionally espoused support for Ruth Bader Ginsburg).
It was a fairly easy, educated guess to assume that Jess knew the meaning of the word bohemia. So, why was she giving Will a look of such confusion? Maybe Jess herself was on Instagram. Maybe they all were. He certainly did not mean to offend. Though, it was a rarity for one to be purposefully offensive, anyway. Will supposed he was simply paving his own road to hell with his good (ish) intentions.
Mike ignored Will. He was across from him, sitting on his phone, reading something. He was much older than anyone else at the table. Will could not tell if he was sending a signal of disapproval, uninterested in the overall conversation, or both. That was certainly respectable.
And then, Will suddenly remembered. Shit. It was Thursday. His designated day to be shat on by the office.
“What does that even mean?” said Derrick.
“Who asked you, ass-wipe?” said Jess.
Oh well. At least it was Mike’s turn tomorrow.
Will said that because he thought it would be smart. It wasn’t. Maybe the actual statement itself, devoid of context, was smart in a subjective sense. But there is no real place for a statement like that to be said, and have it received well in any decent company. And he said it in front of his own co-workers, sitting together for lunch.
Each one at the little conference table turned towards him. Derrick, Mike, and Jess. Three people whom he would have never known or hung out with in real life but brought together by the simple fact that they all needed money to survive.
Derrick sat closest to Will. He was the one who was talking about Instagram in the first place. He saw a friend’s post on some other site about The Social Dilemma and was saying how that made him uncomfortable.
Will thought Derrick would’ve gotten what he was saying. He was agreeing with Derrick, after all. But instead, he just got furrowed brows and slightly puckered lips.
Maybe Jess could have gotten it. She was sitting kitty-corner, had a tattoo on her left arm, and was generally the office ‘radical’ (meaning that she took a heavy interest in beer and electro-clash music, and occasionally espoused support for Ruth Bader Ginsburg).
It was a fairly easy, educated guess to assume that Jess knew the meaning of the word bohemia. So, why was she giving Will a look of such confusion? Maybe Jess herself was on Instagram. Maybe they all were. He certainly did not mean to offend. Though, it was a rarity for one to be purposefully offensive, anyway. Will supposed he was simply paving his own road to hell with his good (ish) intentions.
Mike ignored Will. He was across from him, sitting on his phone, reading something. He was much older than anyone else at the table. Will could not tell if he was sending a signal of disapproval, uninterested in the overall conversation, or both. That was certainly respectable.
And then, Will suddenly remembered. Shit. It was Thursday. His designated day to be shat on by the office.
“What does that even mean?” said Derrick.
“Who asked you, ass-wipe?” said Jess.
Oh well. At least it was Mike’s turn tomorrow.
Not everyone participated in the roasts. Mike ignored it all, of course. Rita was a bit more vocal in her displeasure but did not raise so much of a stink as to put the practice in any jeopardy. This behavior would have certainly put them at further risk for being fired if it weren’t for the many trudging years of loyalty and camaraderie that kept them at this office. They had become fixtures.
Will was new to the office and did not have such a luxury. But at least he could smooth it out. Any perceived insult that he gave would be met with a smile, to ensure that the recipient understood that it was a joke.
Today, the butt-end of the roast was Ann, over in accounts payable. She was a new hire and had just started that week.
The interviewers had told her that the office roast schedule was relatively flexible, compared to most places, but that it was a pretty brutal endeavor at times. She told them that at her last job, they did roasts in weeks, not days; this schedule would be quite an upgrade for her.
Derrick’s voice boomed over the rest of the office. He took delight in these kinds of things. “Ann, we are going to send your ass back to Sioux Falls if you don’t get your shit together! God dammit!”
“Oh-hoh, Derrick, you are really gonna get it next time you’re up!” Ann said in an attempt to bring some humor, and normally, that would have brought some courtesy laughs. But today, it was all crickets.
That afternoon, Will decided to head down to the bathroom in the basement, next to the large conference room, as it was always empty. He went downstairs to find Ann alone in the room, tears streaming, with a half-eaten box lunch beside her.
Will attempted to say something, but as soon as Ann noticed him, she straightened herself on the chair and quickly began to wipe her eyes away.
“I’m sorry, Will,” she said hastily. “I’m just letting it get to me.”
Will again attempted to say something, but nothing felt particularly appropriate. By the time he thought of something good, Ann was already shuffling out of the conference room, her eye makeup still slightly smudged.
When the others noticed her makeup, their insults turned directly towards that.
“Are those tears? You crybaby!” said Derrick.
“Dumb slut! Bet she was in there stuffing dicks in her mouth,” said Jess.
Will was new to the office and did not have such a luxury. But at least he could smooth it out. Any perceived insult that he gave would be met with a smile, to ensure that the recipient understood that it was a joke.
Today, the butt-end of the roast was Ann, over in accounts payable. She was a new hire and had just started that week.
The interviewers had told her that the office roast schedule was relatively flexible, compared to most places, but that it was a pretty brutal endeavor at times. She told them that at her last job, they did roasts in weeks, not days; this schedule would be quite an upgrade for her.
Derrick’s voice boomed over the rest of the office. He took delight in these kinds of things. “Ann, we are going to send your ass back to Sioux Falls if you don’t get your shit together! God dammit!”
“Oh-hoh, Derrick, you are really gonna get it next time you’re up!” Ann said in an attempt to bring some humor, and normally, that would have brought some courtesy laughs. But today, it was all crickets.
That afternoon, Will decided to head down to the bathroom in the basement, next to the large conference room, as it was always empty. He went downstairs to find Ann alone in the room, tears streaming, with a half-eaten box lunch beside her.
Will attempted to say something, but as soon as Ann noticed him, she straightened herself on the chair and quickly began to wipe her eyes away.
“I’m sorry, Will,” she said hastily. “I’m just letting it get to me.”
Will again attempted to say something, but nothing felt particularly appropriate. By the time he thought of something good, Ann was already shuffling out of the conference room, her eye makeup still slightly smudged.
When the others noticed her makeup, their insults turned directly towards that.
“Are those tears? You crybaby!” said Derrick.
“Dumb slut! Bet she was in there stuffing dicks in her mouth,” said Jess.
The fourth time Ann had to be the roastee, she could no longer take it. She thought she could tough it out, but the walls caved in after a particularly rude remark by Jess about her cashmere sweater.
“I know they told me in university that the insults would be worse out in the professional world, but you just don’t expect it to get to you, you know?” Ann confessed to Will, who had transitioned to eating lunch with her and Mike in the basement.
“College can’t teach you anything good in their insult studies classes,” Mike replied bitterly. He sounded depressingly old. “Way back when, when companies were first implementing these insult days, they used to have designated handguns that managers could use. Couldn’t get much done with a Glock pointed to your head!”
“I think I’m going to put in my two weeks. It’s getting ridiculous,” Ann said. Will nodded in an attempt at solidarity.
“You know, you’ll have another insult day in about a week. It might be worth just quitting and leaving,” Mike noted.
“Leave? Without a two-week notice? That’ll go on my outgoing employers’ report, for sure!” Ann responded in a defeated tone. “And once a potential employer calls Derrick up for that report, I’m toast.”
And so, she left a notice. And when that fateful day came, Derrick really let her have it. It was downright incessant, even for the fixtures.
“You pathetic excuse! You couldn’t leave soon enough”
“Dumb bitch! Whore!”
“You fucking little shit bag, you ugly––”
“Enough!” Will finally piped up, at the end of what was a day of total onslaught.
It took the whole office by surprise. Everyone stopped what they were doing. Jess, Mike, Adrianne, even Basil at the front desk. Ann, tears coming down her face once again, looked up at Will, who was attempting to stand tall and face Derrick once and for all.
Will had finally done it. He had stood up for what he knew to be right.
Derrick himself was surprised by Will’s remark. Astounded, even. He had never heard Will speak that loudly before. It was almost a shout.
After a few seconds, though, he was able to gather himself.
“Ann, you’re fired,” Derrick said. “And Will, you’re fucking fired, too.” And then he went back into his office, slamming the door behind him.
“I know they told me in university that the insults would be worse out in the professional world, but you just don’t expect it to get to you, you know?” Ann confessed to Will, who had transitioned to eating lunch with her and Mike in the basement.
“College can’t teach you anything good in their insult studies classes,” Mike replied bitterly. He sounded depressingly old. “Way back when, when companies were first implementing these insult days, they used to have designated handguns that managers could use. Couldn’t get much done with a Glock pointed to your head!”
“I think I’m going to put in my two weeks. It’s getting ridiculous,” Ann said. Will nodded in an attempt at solidarity.
“You know, you’ll have another insult day in about a week. It might be worth just quitting and leaving,” Mike noted.
“Leave? Without a two-week notice? That’ll go on my outgoing employers’ report, for sure!” Ann responded in a defeated tone. “And once a potential employer calls Derrick up for that report, I’m toast.”
And so, she left a notice. And when that fateful day came, Derrick really let her have it. It was downright incessant, even for the fixtures.
“You pathetic excuse! You couldn’t leave soon enough”
“Dumb bitch! Whore!”
“You fucking little shit bag, you ugly––”
“Enough!” Will finally piped up, at the end of what was a day of total onslaught.
It took the whole office by surprise. Everyone stopped what they were doing. Jess, Mike, Adrianne, even Basil at the front desk. Ann, tears coming down her face once again, looked up at Will, who was attempting to stand tall and face Derrick once and for all.
Will had finally done it. He had stood up for what he knew to be right.
Derrick himself was surprised by Will’s remark. Astounded, even. He had never heard Will speak that loudly before. It was almost a shout.
After a few seconds, though, he was able to gather himself.
“Ann, you’re fired,” Derrick said. “And Will, you’re fucking fired, too.” And then he went back into his office, slamming the door behind him.
Brock Splawski is the primary writer behind the weekly publication Little Birdhouses. He has also written for Natural Music and Earlyworm.