Drew's kind of a dick.

       "Oh yea Drew?" "yea, it's pretty cool. I can't wait to leave and go play all weekend." "I'm happy for ya Drew." I tried turning back to my desk.

   Drew was talking about a new game he got the night prior. and I didn't give a flying. fuck. 

"So, what are your plans?" Drew said with a snide tone, as if his thumb-twittling in front of his glowy gooey game was going to trump anything I had. 

   "Probably going to buy a gun and blow my brains out." I mumbled before I turned around.

"What?" "Oh tonight?" I looked at my watch. "Not sure yet, but the day's young, I'll find some kind of trouble to get into." I was being polite. I knew exactly what I was going to do.

   "Huh, well, you don't seem like the type to get into trouble."

What the fuck? I played along. "Looks can be deceiving. He bawked at that.

"Well, you'll lose your job depending what it is. You know HR will find out and..." I tuned out.

Drew. What the fuck kind of name is Drew? DREW. Not even Andrew. Just Drew. Like what the fuck kind of name is that? Who pushes out a baby, looks at it all a mess and crying and go, "DREW! FUCKING DREW YOU SHALL BE FOREVER!" A seriously disturbed person, that's who. A mentally unstable, psychotically fucked individual. 

        "Maybe so Drew, Maybe so." I turned around.

"You know..." He began. "Jesus fuck." I mumbled as I turned back. 

"You could get RaidersHollow tonight and play with us." He had this evil look in his eye like he was plotting to rob a fucking bank. "Uh, no, I'm all set. It's been a while." 

"Dude, don't be lame, get it. You know you want to." Wow, he really is full of himself. 

"No, I think I'm good. I can't drop that kind of cash anyway." I tried that one.

"You'd just blow it on beer." He said under his breath as he turned.

Okay. Gloves are off. 

"Excuse me?" I say, my brows pretty rigid. 

    Drew. Drew was a passive aggressive ass-taxi. Quiet but brooding type. Once we were all shooting the shit on a snowy day and he showed up all flustered. 

       "Hey there he is! How's it going Drew?" Casey exclaimed as we all stood around. Before he could finish, quite dismissively Drew responded. 

        "Not too great." He mumbled, continuing to take his coat off. 

  "Oh, I'm sor..." "Yea I'm not feeling too great." He cut him off again. 

         "Oh I'm sorry to hear that, at least your here!" Casey responded. 

             "I wish I wasn't." Wow, rough crowd. 

 "Well, we're glad you're here, but you should've stayed home if you weren't feeling great." Casey gave a little push back, thank god. 

       Then it came. "Yea I walked from the liquor store parking lot I'm assigned to because I didn't know the shuttles weren't running today so I walked. You know, I'm not required to have outlook on my phone so it's kind of frustrating I wasn't notified..."

            Everyone slowly scattered as he ranted. What a whiner. He sounded it too. Drew had a mumble and a horrible haircut and giant sideburns that were mutton chops really and he was nearly 7 feet tall and always wore these red corduroy pants with big black shit-kicking boots. He was a goof. Which was fine, so am I , but do you have to whine so much? He mumbled and always ended every sentence with an uptick as if a question and ranted. I mean, really ranted. Run-on's and he simply NEVER FUCKING stopped. Never. 

          During team meetings our boss loathed getting to him in turn because he'd bogart the whole damn meeting saying 2 things in 5 thousand words for 25 minutes. Talk. Talk. Talk. He stuttered too. A know-it-all as well. He seemed to know everything about everything. So with that, in addition to his whiney voice and his general complaining demeanor, it was unbearable.

          I wanted to say, "Well Drew. 1. You've been here for a few years so you should know the deal. I've been here since October and put oulook on my phone months ago to stay informed. Also, you can sign up for text updates when these things happen and they'll actually TEXT YOU when shuttles aren't running. As a new employee I had this done within a week. Also, as they weren't running yesterday, you could imagine that perhaps they might not be again today. You were on your email yesterday, so how hard would it be to open your laptop up in the morning for 3 fucking minutes and check your fucking email to see? That is, if you were too dense to sign up for text alerts, and hook up outlook on your phone. But you failed to do all 3. I'm new here and you've been here and I AM HERE. You can't complain. Fucker. Quit your bitching and shut up that you had to walk half a mile. Not only that, but you fucking walk from your apartment which is farther away EVERY DAY. WHAT ARE YOU COMPLAINING ABOUT???"

            But I didn't. I didn't acknowledge it. Or him. So back to the present.

"Excuse me?" I said to his comment about my drinking habits, which were true but beer doesn't cost as much as a damn disc these days.

      "You heard me." He said.

Hmm.

I walked over to Drew's desk, quietly. He rolled his chair back. Staring wide-eyed at me, clearly nervous now what I'd do next. I got real quiet. Real quiet. 

         I had this calm look on my face, not looking directly at him, but down. Not at anything specific,  but making sure I had this, "I'm going to say some real shit." look. 

       "You know Drew. My drinking habits are none of your business. Second, It's Rum, 151 to be exact, mixed with ice tea or Cranberry juice. Those two things for a weekend cost about $25. A 30 rack costs about $20. So technically, no, I would not blow it on beer. It'd take me a month of saving that and not drinking, to buy your stupid fucking game."

      I got closer and be backed away a bit more. "The thing is Drew. You think how I spend my weekends isn't as fulfilling as what you'll be doing. But, when I'm done drinking? I'll have something to show for it. I'll feel fucking great, I might vomit, I might do something stupid or get in a car, or break my hand, or reach out to someone I shouldn't have or call an ex-girlfriend and become hopelessly depressed as I come to realize my reality is coming to work to deal with a whiney little twat like you who 'knows all' but does nothing with his life. And you, will be button mashing your existence away, to show up, whine some more for 5 days and nights, and do the same thing every weekend. Alone. Sad. Until you fucking die. Which I pray comes tonight, when you go home. I'm not a praying man, but I pray while you sit there in the dark, illuminated by only the glow of your TV, with your headphones on that someone breaks into your apartment and fucking strangles you to death while your friends listen to you die and then have your shit robbed. Preferably smashing your TV." 

           I walked away. Drew was not there when I returned.