Red Tie

It was of little doubt that he had to look his best. No question about it. No siree. There's almost no other way around it.

It had to be that way. A suit. And a tie. He might not like the whole ``suited'' feel, but it was one of the requirements that he had to deal with. He had the suit, but he had no idea about the tie.

There was a long history between he and his ties. Each tie that he had ever owned was reduced to shreds for one reason or another; a most strange but utterly coincidental occurrence. At least, that was what he thought.

So, a tie. A need to dress up. Completely at odds with his rather loose style of doing things. A stuffed shirt. Something that he abhorred with a passion. But duty calls; he needed that job as money was already wearing thin. No way around it, no siree, no way around it at all.

He opened his wardrobe, and peered into the pile of tie shreds. He hoped and wished that there was still a tie that he could wear and pass off decently, but he knew that there was never going to be one; the last one had been destroyed a good long time ago. Trying to prolong the inevitable, he dug around, and much to his chagrin and surprise, he found a perfectly good red tie which had fallen into a corner, hidden away behind the pile of tie fragments.

Sighing, he put it on and knotted it up, his suit already on. Suits, schuits. He hated suits; they made him feel so superfluous, so pretentious. But still, duty calls, and he needed the job. Dusting himself and doing some final adjustments, he made his way out of his apartment, and hailed a cab to take him to his interview place.

And so he arrived, and presented himself to the receptionist. Eyeing him with a rather critical eye, she directed him to the interviewer's room somewhere on the fifth floor of the tower. He thanked her, and made his way to the room on the fifth floor.

Knock knock.

``Come in!''

Somewhat apprehensively, he grabbed the door knob, opened the door, and entered. Before him was the interviewer, and between them was a simple desk and an empty seat.

``Take a seat.''

Trying hard not to shuffle, he stepped to the chair and sat down. The interviewer was still reading the dossier intently, and he sat there, feeling even more uncomfortable than before. He coughed.

She looked up sharply, saw the red tie, and promptly slapped him hard across the face. Stunned, he started to retort, but she yelled at him.

``You lousy faggot of a fucker! How dare you seduce my husband! That red tie was the one that I hand sewed for him; there is no other like that in the world! Get out! GET OUT!''

(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 27 Feb 2008 18:53:17)