Secret Lives of My Coworkers -2Submitted by monkeyswithguns at 2008-09-18 11:41:03 EDT
Rating: 1.94 on 50 ratings (50 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
What I know: Rob is an older guy, probably 50 or so, who works for us as a sales rep, on the road a minimum of 4 days per week. He retired from the Virginia State Police, though he was originally from Michigan, so he speaks with a clear northern-midwest accent.
Rob, even at his old age is apparently quite the ladies man, or so he tells me. He’s married, but the last time I had to see him face to face he told me about how he almost got caught cheating on one of his mistresses with her sister, who he’s also cheating on his wife with. I really can’t say whether it’s true or not, because he’s a great liar, which is why we hired him.
As I explained once before, when I myself was filling in for a now dead man,(see here: http://www.ubersite.com/m/112641 ) that particular job allows you ample opportunities to fuck off, and go driving through National Parks to take a 3 hour break, and you tend to see plenty of weird shit, like this time in Florida when I saw a seemingly sane and non-mongoloid man riding down the side of the road (no sidewalk, in the country), on an old person scooter wearing a flaming helmet. No joke.
I know he does the same because we installed tracking devices in all of our cars, and I check on them every once in awhile and crack the whip if they aren’t doing anything.
But back to Rob: He’s an avid fan of Ann Coulter, which makes me question his moral leanings, but then I remember why we hired him, and that he’s a retired state trooper, and my question is answered. If I didn’t know these things, I wouldn’t be able to tell though, because he wears a fake plastic smile, but not so fake that it’s creepy like Hillary Clinton’s. It's a smile designed to encourage trust. A skill he has honed to a very fine edge.
Now for the pure speculation:
Bob gives his wife a peck on the face as he walks out the door to begin his week. It’s 9:30 as usual, and I just finished calling him to wake him up and let him know that Big Brother is watching him.
He starts his drive off down the highway, and sees a few salesmen, always wearing that fake plastic smile, and with the confidence of a man who’s carried a pistol at his side for over 20 years, though it’s now kept in a shoulder harness under his business jacket.
He’ll continue this act all day, and in between salesmen, while he drives through the Tennessee hills and Kentucky valleys, he’ll smoke his menthol cigarettes while drinking his coffee and muttering under his breath about what a jackass the last guy was, or the next guy is, or his manager (me) is.
In the evening, around 4:30, he’ll begin looking for a hotel for the night wherever he’s at, unless he’s in a city where he has a girlfriend, in which case he’ll go over and make gross old people love to the dumb old broad before leaving again the next day. He calls his wife on his cell phone while he runs out for cigarettes and tells her he loves her, and as usual he’ll be coming in on Thursday afternoon.
Tonight, however, he’s in a city where he doesn’t have a girlfriend, so he’ll check into the hotel, and after knocking out a quick one, he’ll head out for some fun.
Though he’s no longer a registered officer of the law, he still carries a gun, and knows how to play the act of a detective in an unmarked car. It helps that he was allowed to keep his badge after retiring as a memento of his years of dedicated public service.
Knoxville is a decent sized city, and like any city, there’s always a black market full of hookers, drug dealers, pimps, and gang-bangers to exploit. This is his playground, and it’s these nightly rides that allow him to maintain that silly plastic grin all week.
Tonight, like any night, he wants 2 things:
- A good fuck
- Some money for the boat he’s been saving up for.
He has a routine, an established and proven one, that he uses everywhere he goes. He drops by the local police department, and gives them the plastic grin, and tells them about his previous experience as an officer of the law to gain their trust.
He asks them questions about where the high crime areas are, and which hotels to avoid, because he keeps too much valuable equipment in his car at night.
If the local yokel officers take a liking to him, he’ll make a mental note of it, and the next time he swings through, he’ll drop them off some donuts and chit chat about the local news, which helps not only his day job, but also alerts him when they’re focusing in on certain criminal activities so that he can avoid being caught at his night shift.
He goes and finds his motel of choice, and with his newfound knowledge of what crimes take place where, he sets off.
First things first, it’s time to get paid. He doesn’t bring cash on the road with him, and the only way to get a hooker in the car with you is to flash some cash at her, then she’s all giggles and sunshine instead of the normal “my soul is dead inside” look they usually carry. It’s all fake, just like his plastic smile, and they both know it, but it’s a marketing tool for the girl, and he can respect that, if not her.
He drives through the semi-ghetto, the land between the 9-5 world and the 24-7 world of pimps and pushers.
It’s not quite dangerous enough here that he’s likely to be shot at, but still poor enough that the cops aren’t really concerned about the welfare of the people here, and will only intervene when there’s a 911 call. They take their time though.
He pulls up to an abandoned shopping center where a group of young black men are hanging around, showing off their new rims and ghetto blaster speakers. He walks up full stride, unafraid, while they all stare at him. This doesn’t happen often, and these kids are innocent, decent kids just trying to have a good time and kill the overwhelming boredom of youth.
“So anyone here know where the dope is?”
“Naah yo, we ain’t into nunuh that shit, you’re lookin for Smokey and his crew, head down the block, and turn right on 5th St.”
He starts to turn around, and go back to his car, but one young kid stops him, tells him he’ll take him to a guy he knows, because Smokey has been paranoid lately and probably won’t deal with an older white guy.
This kid doesn’t deal drugs, and doesn’t like dealing with that scene, but if anyone gets killed nearby, his friends and him won’t be able to hang out in the parking lot anymore because the cops will start hassling them. Besides, he usually gets tips for doing this.
He instructs Rob where to drive, off the main avenue, and down a side street behind his hotel. This should make things pretty easy for him. The pull up to the curb of a house on a quiet street, nobody’s hanging out like in the cool early fall night of the real ghetto.
They walk up to the door, and an older lady answers the door, and lets them in.
He flips out his badge, and pulls his gun the moment the door is locked, and both young man and old woman stare at him incredulously.
“As you know, if I were here to arrest you, you’d have been in jail hours ago. It’s that time again, and you owe the department $500.00 to operate here.”
The old lady sighs, and walks over to the couch and sits down where her purse is, while the young man sits down and just stares at the floor with his head in his hands. He keeps the gun trained on her, because he’s had old ladies pull guns on him before. Nobody suspects the elderly.
He gets the cash, thanks her for her support of the Nashville Police Dept., jogs back to the car, and goes out for his second priority, pussy. It doesn’t take long to find either, and when he flashes the hundred dollar bill, the young Latina girl hops in the car.
He can see the dollar signs in her eyes, but she can’t see the malice in his. It's an art form, this masquerade.
She directs him to a local park, where there are a few other cars there, but he parks anyway. She asks him what he wants, and he replies “Do I really need to tell you?” with the first real smile on his face he’s had all day.
“It’ll be $100 for a straight fuck, if you want something else, spit it out, and we’ll work something out baby.” She’s wearing a plastic smile while she says this.
He pulls out his wallet and flashes his badge, and says, “How much now?” and you can see the smile and hope fade from the girl’s eyes because the badge means she won’t be getting paid at all, and cops usually tend to be a bit rough.
He fucks her from behind, grabbing her hair and pulling her head back while she leans over the back seat, trying not to think about her lost hours, and how Smokey won’t want to hear about how she lost an hour’s worth of work, he just wants his fucking money.
He finishes, and spits on her back for good measure before she gets dressed, and he tells her to get the fuck out of his car.
Rob drives back to the hotel, lust sated, and wallet a little fatter, and goes up to his hotel room. He picks up his cell phone, calls up his wife and chats a bit. She asks how his day was, and he replies “Just the usual, I put in a few extra hours tonight, and I think I’ll have enough money this week to pay for you to go to the retreat your psychiatrist mentioned.”
“That’s nice dear, just drive safe and keep your gun loaded, you know how I worry about you. You retired from a job where you put your life on the line every day, only to start another job where you spend most of your week in strange towns in strange hotels. Sometimes I don’t think I’ll ever understand you.”
“Don’t you worry about me honey, I’ll be just fine.” He’s wearing the plastic smile again, but not thinking about it because it’s as automatic for him now as it was when he first married her.