Uncaffeinated

She sighed, shooting a glare at the coffee machine. It was teasing her with its meticulous silver sheen; however no coffee was to be made that morning. Sighing again in frustration, the receptionist rubbed her temples, a sure sign of an oncoming migraine.

Her day passed by like a movie montage, people coming and going, papers signed, phones ringing. It sped up and slowed down constantly and became a giant technicolour blur.

Checking the clock for the millionth time that day, a realisation came to her. Making her way to the coffee machine, she pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, exasperated. No one had switched it on.

An ode to Greenacres; or, why I hate thee.

Your carpark, full of speed freaks and snails. What is a rear view mirror?

Savings brand dim sims on a Wednesday night. Lick your lips and stare into space. 

Salmonella chicken. Need I say more?

Indian restaurant in a Blockbuster. What costs more, overdue fees or butter chicken?

Visit the bank. What do you mean my girlfriend withdrew all me savings?

Minecraft tshirts. Haute couture a la Greenacres. 

Spud shop. Here, gone, here. Wish you were gone!

Remember Sam’s Warehouse? Me neither!

Why are the banh mi sitting on the counter? And the doughnuts taste like fish. Help!

Subway. Worker has the flu. She wipes her nose. Bonus sick day for you.