“Where are all the husky guys with dorito crumbs on their shirts?”
Frank Gronkin is up in arms today, decreeing that his employer has wronged him a final time. Casually flipping through a company newsletter replete with photos of happy families and people with acceptable levels of hygiene, Frank begins to boil with rage as he frantically turns the pages searching for an accurate representation of the workforce: Fat, unwashed slobs with a chip on their shoulder, and often stuck to their shirt.
At 10am on a Friday, Frank is typically halfway through an episode of Big Bang Theory and an Atomic Tomato bag of Samboys. But today he is in a one-way shouting match with his supervisor, channeling the rage he usually puts into online posts about mining food quality.
“How am I supposed to feel a sense of self worth or acceptance if I am not depicted in any of the posters and stuff around here?” He belched at his superior, letting off the combined stenches of cola, flash fried chips and teeth that haven’t been brushed in three days.
“I bit my tongue through last week’s workplace equality seminar but now I’ve had a gutful!” He pressed, despite colleagues reporting seeing him watching raunchy TikTok videos before switching to Race 6 at Belmont on his phone during the meeting.
“Look out there. Look at Marcus, and Ferdinand. Are they grinning from ear to fuckin’ ear with an ironed shirt? Reckon they’ve showered this week? This is bullshit.”
Franks superior was forced to give him a write up and begged him to start wearing deodorant to work.
