“Oy, Starzyk, will you get me some salt and vinegar chips while you are at the store?” Charlotte yelled after Johan as he shuffled purposefully out the door. He ignored her, as usual. She shrugged and dropped onto the couch with her notebook, already scribbling busily.

Bobby D was staring at her with enough intensity that she stopped writing. “Can I help you, minion?” She queried without looking up, in a tone that made it clear that she hadn’t the slightest intention of helping him.

Bobby sighed dramatically. “I asked you to quit calling me minion. I am not your minion. I, and the rest of the fine people here,” Bobby waved his hand to include everyone else in the room. “We are your co-workers, your counterparts. Not minions. Seriously, though. You do realize that you are saying his last name wrong, right? Strozyk. Stroh-zick. Not Star-zick.”

Charlotte had already begun writing again. “Oh, you are my minion. Definitely one of my flying monkeys. And I know how to say his name. Use your Google-fu, my pretty, and prove to me that you are a true research nerd.”

Throwing his hands up in defeat, Bobby got back on his computer. After a moment of typing and clicking, he mumbled. “Oh. Well, I guess that makes sense.” Tamara eyed him curiously, and hopped up to peek over his shoulder at the computer screen. She nodded, patted his shoulder and went back to her desk.

3 thoughts on “Oy.

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