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Okay, I haven't written them in the order they were given, but I got an idea for this and I thought I'd write it sooner rather than later. Expect others....as soon as I get time/can be bothered.
Jam
Oh, bloody hell not this again. That’s at least the third time this week. He put his head in his hands. Now I won’t get home till about seven, he thought. Dammit. What’s suddenly happened to cause all this? It wasn’t like this a few months ago. Just a smooth ride home.
He realised that for once he hadn’t put any music on. So he pressed play, without even looking at which CD he was about to listen to. It must’ve been because he was angry when he left work, as usually the music is on before the seatbelt. He’d just had an argument with that Janice from the other side of the office. Stupid, but it got him in such a rage. He had to refrain from hitting her, which was uncharacteristic of him. He left the car park at such a speed he had several near misses before he calmed down.
The music came on. Ah, you couldn’t go wrong with a bit of Hendrix. “All along the watchtower…”, he sang along to himself, after all there was no one around to hear him make a fool of himself. Certainly not Janice. He might even risk a bit of air guitar.
…better not.
He looked forwards over the long line of vehicles in front of him. That’s odd, he thought, you hardly ever see classic cars these days. But when you do they’re normally nice and shiny, you can tell the owner takes pride in it. Not like this one. This one was dirty, dull, and looked like a new paint job wouldn’t do it any harm. He strained for a better look. The owner should be ashamed of themselves – mind you, his wasn’t much better. Just because that car was “a classic”, why should the owner bother to maintain it any more than anyone else? He looked away.
Some people were walking past his car on the left hand side. Dressed in hoodies and adidas tracksuit pants. Millions of years worth of evolution, and this is the result, he mused. Snotty kids who can’t even make up their mind whether they want to be trendy or alternative. Jesus.
One of them looked round and pulled a face at him. “Don’t make yourself look uglier than you already are”, he said under his breath. Even though nobody could have heard him through the glass, he still whispered it. Why the hell did I whisper? He thought. It was things like this that made him angry.
And he was fed up of bloody Hendrix. Get some real music on, not some heroic over the top guitar solos. He flicked through the CD’s he had in the car at the moment. The heaviest music he had was Queens of the Stone Age. He put it on, thinking it would have to do.
He tapped on the steering wheel in time to the music. Aggressively. The lyric “I’ll ****ing kill your best friend, and what you ****ing gonna do?” seemed to sum up his mood at the moment.
He was bored, as was always the case in these situations. He flicked open his glovebox and had a root around. Some cough sweets, headache tablets, a map, God knows how long since he used that. Nothing of any interest.
He was reminded of an episode of One Foot in the Grave, where the characters are stuck in a traffic jam staring at a horse’s **** for the duration of the programme. Only instead of a horse’s **** he had Janice’s face taunting him from the back of his mind. And the classic car that just didn’t seem right.
He couldn’t even remember what the argument had been about now. Something about him not pulling his weight around the office, and letting the side down. He couldn’t really follow what was said because he was so outraged that anyone would try to pin this on him rather than any of his colleagues in the department. He was easily the most hard working person of all of them, even his boss. He actually got things done all day, on his own, while all the others spent time giggling at things like gay tests and messages sent over the network. And he new damn well they were breaking the rules by having pornography stored on there somewhere.
And now Janice was saying that HE wasn’t pulling HIS weight? He was pulling his and most of everyone else’s. But he wasn’t really in the position to argue, as she was technically higher up than him in the company – but only because over in accounting they had a different hierarchy system.
Damn her to hell.
He was getting worked up again. He looked around his car for something, anything, to interest him. All he could see were his CD’s.
And one he hadn’t spotted before – Rage Against The Machine. Just what he needed; some anti-authoritarian tunes to get him home in one piece. He took out the previous CD and was just putting in the new one when he realised the cars were moving. He quickly put the thing in gear (it never goes smoothly when you need it to, he decided), and tried to set off.
The cars were moving at quite a pace considering it had been a complete stand still two seconds ago. He got the disc in the machine. Bah, this first one’s crap, he thought. He reached for the buttons, but couldn’t find them with his hand alone. He looked down, but it took a few seconds for his eyes to readjust to the comparative dullness of the interior. He moved his head down to get a better view and nudged the steering wheel.
He heard a loud and powerful horn, and before he knew what was happening he looked up.
And the music went out.
Jam
Oh, bloody hell not this again. That’s at least the third time this week. He put his head in his hands. Now I won’t get home till about seven, he thought. Dammit. What’s suddenly happened to cause all this? It wasn’t like this a few months ago. Just a smooth ride home.
He realised that for once he hadn’t put any music on. So he pressed play, without even looking at which CD he was about to listen to. It must’ve been because he was angry when he left work, as usually the music is on before the seatbelt. He’d just had an argument with that Janice from the other side of the office. Stupid, but it got him in such a rage. He had to refrain from hitting her, which was uncharacteristic of him. He left the car park at such a speed he had several near misses before he calmed down.
The music came on. Ah, you couldn’t go wrong with a bit of Hendrix. “All along the watchtower…”, he sang along to himself, after all there was no one around to hear him make a fool of himself. Certainly not Janice. He might even risk a bit of air guitar.
…better not.
He looked forwards over the long line of vehicles in front of him. That’s odd, he thought, you hardly ever see classic cars these days. But when you do they’re normally nice and shiny, you can tell the owner takes pride in it. Not like this one. This one was dirty, dull, and looked like a new paint job wouldn’t do it any harm. He strained for a better look. The owner should be ashamed of themselves – mind you, his wasn’t much better. Just because that car was “a classic”, why should the owner bother to maintain it any more than anyone else? He looked away.
Some people were walking past his car on the left hand side. Dressed in hoodies and adidas tracksuit pants. Millions of years worth of evolution, and this is the result, he mused. Snotty kids who can’t even make up their mind whether they want to be trendy or alternative. Jesus.
One of them looked round and pulled a face at him. “Don’t make yourself look uglier than you already are”, he said under his breath. Even though nobody could have heard him through the glass, he still whispered it. Why the hell did I whisper? He thought. It was things like this that made him angry.
And he was fed up of bloody Hendrix. Get some real music on, not some heroic over the top guitar solos. He flicked through the CD’s he had in the car at the moment. The heaviest music he had was Queens of the Stone Age. He put it on, thinking it would have to do.
He tapped on the steering wheel in time to the music. Aggressively. The lyric “I’ll ****ing kill your best friend, and what you ****ing gonna do?” seemed to sum up his mood at the moment.
He was bored, as was always the case in these situations. He flicked open his glovebox and had a root around. Some cough sweets, headache tablets, a map, God knows how long since he used that. Nothing of any interest.
He was reminded of an episode of One Foot in the Grave, where the characters are stuck in a traffic jam staring at a horse’s **** for the duration of the programme. Only instead of a horse’s **** he had Janice’s face taunting him from the back of his mind. And the classic car that just didn’t seem right.
He couldn’t even remember what the argument had been about now. Something about him not pulling his weight around the office, and letting the side down. He couldn’t really follow what was said because he was so outraged that anyone would try to pin this on him rather than any of his colleagues in the department. He was easily the most hard working person of all of them, even his boss. He actually got things done all day, on his own, while all the others spent time giggling at things like gay tests and messages sent over the network. And he new damn well they were breaking the rules by having pornography stored on there somewhere.
And now Janice was saying that HE wasn’t pulling HIS weight? He was pulling his and most of everyone else’s. But he wasn’t really in the position to argue, as she was technically higher up than him in the company – but only because over in accounting they had a different hierarchy system.
Damn her to hell.
He was getting worked up again. He looked around his car for something, anything, to interest him. All he could see were his CD’s.
And one he hadn’t spotted before – Rage Against The Machine. Just what he needed; some anti-authoritarian tunes to get him home in one piece. He took out the previous CD and was just putting in the new one when he realised the cars were moving. He quickly put the thing in gear (it never goes smoothly when you need it to, he decided), and tried to set off.
The cars were moving at quite a pace considering it had been a complete stand still two seconds ago. He got the disc in the machine. Bah, this first one’s crap, he thought. He reached for the buttons, but couldn’t find them with his hand alone. He looked down, but it took a few seconds for his eyes to readjust to the comparative dullness of the interior. He moved his head down to get a better view and nudged the steering wheel.
He heard a loud and powerful horn, and before he knew what was happening he looked up.
And the music went out.
Come on Beards, the least you can do is read it.
Okay, I haven't written them in the order they were given, but I got an idea for this and I thought I'd write it sooner rather than later. Expect others....as soon as I get time/can be bothered.
Jam
Oh, bloody hell not this again. That’s at least the third time this week. He put his head in his hands. Now I won’t get home till about seven, he thought. Dammit. What’s suddenly happened to cause all this? It wasn’t like this a few months ago. Just a smooth ride home.
He realised that for once he hadn’t put any music on. So he pressed play, without even looking at which CD he was about to listen to. It must’ve been because he was angry when he left work, as usually the music is on before the seatbelt. He’d just had an argument with that Janice from the other side of the office. Stupid, but it got him in such a rage. He had to refrain from hitting her, which was uncharacteristic of him. He left the car park at such a speed he had several near misses before he calmed down.
The music came on. Ah, you couldn’t go wrong with a bit of Hendrix. “All along the watchtower…”, he sang along to himself, after all there was no one around to hear him make a fool of himself. Certainly not Janice. He might even risk a bit of air guitar.
…better not.
He looked forwards over the long line of vehicles in front of him. That’s odd, he thought, you hardly ever see classic cars these days. But when you do they’re normally nice and shiny, you can tell the owner takes pride in it. Not like this one. This one was dirty, dull, and looked like a new paint job wouldn’t do it any harm. He strained for a better look. The owner should be ashamed of themselves – mind you, his wasn’t much better. Just because that car was “a classic”, why should the owner bother to maintain it any more than anyone else? He looked away.
Some people were walking past his car on the left hand side. Dressed in hoodies and adidas tracksuit pants. Millions of years worth of evolution, and this is the result, he mused. Snotty kids who can’t even make up their mind whether they want to be trendy or alternative. Jesus.
One of them looked round and pulled a face at him. “Don’t make yourself look uglier than you already are”, he said under his breath. Even though nobody could have heard him through the glass, he still whispered it. Why the hell did I whisper? He thought. It was things like this that made him angry.
And he was fed up of bloody Hendrix. Get some real music on, not some heroic over the top guitar solos. He flicked through the CD’s he had in the car at the moment. The heaviest music he had was Queens of the Stone Age. He put it on, thinking it would have to do.
He tapped on the steering wheel in time to the music. Aggressively. The lyric “I’ll ****ing kill your best friend, and what you ****ing gonna do?” seemed to sum up his mood at the moment.
He was bored, as was always the case in these situations. He flicked open his glovebox and had a root around. Some cough sweets, headache tablets, a map, God knows how long since he used that. Nothing of any interest.
He was reminded of an episode of One Foot in the Grave, where the characters are stuck in a traffic jam staring at a horse’s **** for the duration of the programme. Only instead of a horse’s **** he had Janice’s face taunting him from the back of his mind. And the classic car that just didn’t seem right.
He couldn’t even remember what the argument had been about now. Something about him not pulling his weight around the office, and letting the side down. He couldn’t really follow what was said because he was so outraged that anyone would try to pin this on him rather than any of his colleagues in the department. He was easily the most hard working person of all of them, even his boss. He actually got things done all day, on his own, while all the others spent time giggling at things like gay tests and messages sent over the network. And he new damn well they were breaking the rules by having pornography stored on there somewhere.
And now Janice was saying that HE wasn’t pulling HIS weight? He was pulling his and most of everyone else’s. But he wasn’t really in the position to argue, as she was technically higher up than him in the company – but only because over in accounting they had a different hierarchy system.
Damn her to hell.
He was getting worked up again. He looked around his car for something, anything, to interest him. All he could see were his CD’s.
And one he hadn’t spotted before – Rage Against The Machine. Just what he needed; some anti-authoritarian tunes to get him home in one piece. He took out the previous CD and was just putting in the new one when he realised the cars were moving. He quickly put the thing in gear (it never goes smoothly when you need it to, he decided), and tried to set off.
The cars were moving at quite a pace considering it had been a complete stand still two seconds ago. He got the disc in the machine. Bah, this first one’s crap, he thought. He reached for the buttons, but couldn’t find them with his hand alone. He looked down, but it took a few seconds for his eyes to readjust to the comparative dullness of the interior. He moved his head down to get a better view and nudged the steering wheel.
He heard a loud and powerful horn, and before he knew what was happening he looked up.
And the music went out.
Jam
Oh, bloody hell not this again. That’s at least the third time this week. He put his head in his hands. Now I won’t get home till about seven, he thought. Dammit. What’s suddenly happened to cause all this? It wasn’t like this a few months ago. Just a smooth ride home.
He realised that for once he hadn’t put any music on. So he pressed play, without even looking at which CD he was about to listen to. It must’ve been because he was angry when he left work, as usually the music is on before the seatbelt. He’d just had an argument with that Janice from the other side of the office. Stupid, but it got him in such a rage. He had to refrain from hitting her, which was uncharacteristic of him. He left the car park at such a speed he had several near misses before he calmed down.
The music came on. Ah, you couldn’t go wrong with a bit of Hendrix. “All along the watchtower…”, he sang along to himself, after all there was no one around to hear him make a fool of himself. Certainly not Janice. He might even risk a bit of air guitar.
…better not.
He looked forwards over the long line of vehicles in front of him. That’s odd, he thought, you hardly ever see classic cars these days. But when you do they’re normally nice and shiny, you can tell the owner takes pride in it. Not like this one. This one was dirty, dull, and looked like a new paint job wouldn’t do it any harm. He strained for a better look. The owner should be ashamed of themselves – mind you, his wasn’t much better. Just because that car was “a classic”, why should the owner bother to maintain it any more than anyone else? He looked away.
Some people were walking past his car on the left hand side. Dressed in hoodies and adidas tracksuit pants. Millions of years worth of evolution, and this is the result, he mused. Snotty kids who can’t even make up their mind whether they want to be trendy or alternative. Jesus.
One of them looked round and pulled a face at him. “Don’t make yourself look uglier than you already are”, he said under his breath. Even though nobody could have heard him through the glass, he still whispered it. Why the hell did I whisper? He thought. It was things like this that made him angry.
And he was fed up of bloody Hendrix. Get some real music on, not some heroic over the top guitar solos. He flicked through the CD’s he had in the car at the moment. The heaviest music he had was Queens of the Stone Age. He put it on, thinking it would have to do.
He tapped on the steering wheel in time to the music. Aggressively. The lyric “I’ll ****ing kill your best friend, and what you ****ing gonna do?” seemed to sum up his mood at the moment.
He was bored, as was always the case in these situations. He flicked open his glovebox and had a root around. Some cough sweets, headache tablets, a map, God knows how long since he used that. Nothing of any interest.
He was reminded of an episode of One Foot in the Grave, where the characters are stuck in a traffic jam staring at a horse’s **** for the duration of the programme. Only instead of a horse’s **** he had Janice’s face taunting him from the back of his mind. And the classic car that just didn’t seem right.
He couldn’t even remember what the argument had been about now. Something about him not pulling his weight around the office, and letting the side down. He couldn’t really follow what was said because he was so outraged that anyone would try to pin this on him rather than any of his colleagues in the department. He was easily the most hard working person of all of them, even his boss. He actually got things done all day, on his own, while all the others spent time giggling at things like gay tests and messages sent over the network. And he new damn well they were breaking the rules by having pornography stored on there somewhere.
And now Janice was saying that HE wasn’t pulling HIS weight? He was pulling his and most of everyone else’s. But he wasn’t really in the position to argue, as she was technically higher up than him in the company – but only because over in accounting they had a different hierarchy system.
Damn her to hell.
He was getting worked up again. He looked around his car for something, anything, to interest him. All he could see were his CD’s.
And one he hadn’t spotted before – Rage Against The Machine. Just what he needed; some anti-authoritarian tunes to get him home in one piece. He took out the previous CD and was just putting in the new one when he realised the cars were moving. He quickly put the thing in gear (it never goes smoothly when you need it to, he decided), and tried to set off.
The cars were moving at quite a pace considering it had been a complete stand still two seconds ago. He got the disc in the machine. Bah, this first one’s crap, he thought. He reached for the buttons, but couldn’t find them with his hand alone. He looked down, but it took a few seconds for his eyes to readjust to the comparative dullness of the interior. He moved his head down to get a better view and nudged the steering wheel.
He heard a loud and powerful horn, and before he knew what was happening he looked up.
And the music went out.