Malcolm’s boss, simply put, was an asshole–a real stinker.

Ben, was name his name, and he was bald, overweight, and wore tight stone-washed blue jeans, which in these parts of his world were ten years out of fashion and only popular among folk twenty more years younger. Therefore, as one can see, Ben was an asshole in both attitude and existence.

“I dunno how many times I gotta tell you, but man, Malcolm, you gotta smile on the telephone.”

“Smile on the telephone,” Malcolm repeated. “Got it. I will smile on the telephone.”

“Malcolm, is that…sarcasm I sense?”

“No,” Malcom said sarcastically.

“Good. It wouldn’t be good if it was. But you gotta smile on–“

“The telephone, yes. I have to smile on the telephone.”

Ben pushed back from his desk. His chair slid the few feet back to the wall, and it clunked. “Fantastic. So, we have an understanding?”

“Absolutely.” Malcolm didn’t mean it. But he did want to go for a walk.