Huge Mistakes

Amrit woke up exhausted, having worked an ungodly 9 hours the day before for his Sikh boss. The 9 hours did not include the unpaid hour of cleaning the office he did for some pooja. It was at the end of the 10 total hours that his immediate Australian (white) boss had told him his pay would be docked for giving away too many samples.

He sighed as he began to masturbate.

Any other man would have had some kind of reduced libido after a day like the one Amrit had had. Not him. He was tired, but had time to begin his waking day with a shot onto the sheets.

Finishing in record time, he looked to his side at where the heavy breathing came from – his now-fiance Priya.

He kicked her as she slept. Her large gulab jamun-like body barely moved, catching up on the apnea.

Rolling off the bed himself, and still wanting to take out his rage, he grabbed one of her snow globes and smashed it on the ground.

As it smashed, he realized he would be in for a rager. Priya would yell at him and call him a half-salary for making half her wage. He would then need to appease her by pretending to call the pandit to ask for her black presence to be allowed in the Brahmin temple.

Amrit checked the snow globes to see which ones he had destroyed, and saw one from Vegas that his friend DM had brought Priya at his request. He teared up, thinking of all his good times with DM which were no more.

It was all Priya’s fault. She had sown seeds of anger in DM’s head by making comments about Amrit serving him sausages before her.

He grew even more incensed as he thought of Priya raising the back of her skirt at their friend Hitesh the night before. Hitesh had vomited, but Amrit was still cross.

Amrit thought to call DM and tell him, like in the good old days when he discussed all his problems with him.

The line rang and rang. After 10 rings, Amrit gave up. He thought to call DM’s wife, but suddenly felt his colon rebel. The gulab jamun-eating competition he had had with Priya the night before was bringing dividends.

Amrit threw his phone at Priya’s keratin-infused head as he lurched for the bathroom.

______________________

DM was having a damn good day. He was feeling cool in his half-sleeve formal shirt that he had had some doubts about. He had spent the afternoon making fun of some Vietnamese food that Kayo had sent him pictures of. All of this capped well when he sighed with contentment at not having Amrit polluting his life.

He got in his car and almost felt like singing, but did not because he would laugh at any other man who did such things.

As he drove towards the underground parking gate, DM had a quick just-in-case thought. He knew that Amrit did not know where he had moved to recently in Sports City. However, Amrit did sort of know the general area in which he worked.

DM sighed again in the sound knowledge that the dunce Amrit did not know the exact location of his work or how to use Google Maps to look up a business. This was the retard that still called up insurance companies for quotes like it was the 90s.

The gate hushed up and DM began to drive up the incline.

“Aaaaaaalouuuumaaaa!”

Thudddd!

He had hit something that looked like a sack of potatoes with chicken thigh legs.

Not wanting to get out, DM peered over the wheel to see Amrit splayed on the ground, holding his lower back.

For some reason, Amrit was wearing six or so of his fiance’s dresses.

“For insulation?” DM wondered, realising that the hit was no coincidence.

Amrit was screaming on the ground. DM did not like the attention. People were starting to look.

A much leaner-than-Amrit figure now darted towards the scene, DM could see. It was the Kenyan security guard, Roy. Nice guy.

Roy began beating Amrit with his nightstick mercilessly.

“How dare,” Roy was yelling between smashes, “you get your fat body dirt,” and with a lot of anger, “on Mr. DM’s car!”

Amrit rolled onto his stomach to avoid the hits. Roy, seeing that he was face down and ass up, lifted the dresses and gave him the doggy experience.

“Dooaan do that to vaaaaibve!” a husky dark figure yelled from the top of the incline.

DM groaned. It was Priya in her most walrus-esque form.

A Bangladeshi cleaner had appeared from the parking garage and was hitting Amrit with a screwdriver.

Priya was rambling over to them, pausing every step to pant viciously.

“Put those two rods inside meeee,” she screamed at Roy and the cleaner.

Both of them looked up in disgust.

Priya lost her footing and fell, rolling down the incline. The cleaner stabbed her in the armpit as her roll slowed.

His path clear, DM began to drive up the incline, ignoring the duelling screams of the rolled bell and her hidjda fiance.

He sighed. A solid 7 minutes of his time had been wasted, adding to time in rush hour getting home.