I asked for Lamb

By R.J. Tennyson

“CHICKEN,” came the muffled shout from Peter, his cavernous mouth stuffed with kebab. “This is chicken! You have got to be fucking kidding me!” He snatched his diet coke from Sarah’s hand and chugged a mouthful, before slamming the can down on the table.

“Peter. Please. That’s quite enough,” Sarah pleaded, unable to mask the weariness in her voice. “We’ve discussed your language a million times. This is not how you were raised.” Fifteen years of telling Peter the same things over and over was fraying Sarah around the edges.

Foaming bubbles of spit gathered in the corners of Peter’s mouth. “Shut-up you fucking cow, you’re not my mother,” he yelled. “I asked for lamb and got chicken! How fucking hard is it?”

“Peter, I was here when you made the call. You asked for chicken.”

“NO – I – DIDN’T!” Peter screamed, stamping his feet

“Peter, you did. I heard y..”

“Are you calling me a liar, Sarah? Because if you are, I will…”

Sarah winced, biting her tongue. “No Peter, I’m just saying…”

“Then shut the fuck up Sarah. No one gives a shit what you think,” he said, as he bit back into the chicken kebab. Garlic sauce dribbled from his chin like the result of a misplaced food-porn ejaculation.

“Be careful, Peter. You’ll make a mess of your nice new blue tie.” Sarah took a napkin from the table and dabbed at the offending sauce as Peter gulped a mouthful of diet coke, swished it around, and let out a garlic laced burp. “Someone needs to round up the camel fucker who fucked up my order, and send the Muslim bastard to an island.” Peter slammed his fist on the table. “No, no, not just him – his whole fucking camel fucking family!”

“PETER! You know you can’t go around saying horrible things like that.”

“I can say whatever I like. Once they’re on the island I’ll shoot them all.”

“You can’t just shoot people Pete…”

“Fine. Then I’ll lock him in a cage and force him to watch the guards fucking his fam…”

“SHUT-UP! Stop it! Stop It now. You’re acting like a spoiled brat. This is why I don’t like you. This is why no one likes you, Peter. You’re a monster.” Sarah burst into tears. She held her face in her hands. “I just can’t do this anymore, Peter. Enough is enough. You need to grow up, and start acting like a…” she paused, “like a human being. Not that you’d even know what that was.”

“Fuck you, Sarah. Do you know who I am?”

Sarah ignored him, her face still in her hands.

“I said, do you know who I am? DO – YOU – KNOW – WHO – I – AM?”

Sarah sighed, “yes, of course I do. I’ve been your babysitter long enough.”

“Don’t be a smart arse, Sarah. You’re my personal assistant,” he laughed, “and that doesn’t just make me the Minister of Immigration, it makes me your boss.”