![IMG-PHOTO-ART-1293505812_20220610114142887.jpg](https://images.hive.blog/DQmeSY5bwSf93PVP8iFga5DM7cDyNRbGTGYYqEuRqc2SYUc/IMG-PHOTO-ART-1293505812_20220610114142887.jpg)

*What's going on here?*

I yodelled at the mostly empty office as I marched up to my allotted desk.

Nearby, an odd-looking developer twisted around in alarm. He had a long and straggly beard, making him look decidedly like a stunted version of the dread [Cthulu.](https://shirtoid.com/254794/baby-cthulhu/)


![IMG-PHOTO-ART-1241372649.jpg](https://images.hive.blog/DQmTWpAQ3S26YUhWrV9xnzSrsPbiaJxANEMSLHLfFMcftWe/IMG-PHOTO-ART-1241372649.jpg)


*What's up man?*

*Cthulu* mumbled trying to avoid eye contact so much that he was in danger of headbutting a nearby wall. 

*What's up? What is fucking up? I will tell you what is up. The chairs!? Where are the fucking chairs?*

I snarled at him as I looked around the office. 

In the sea of desks around me, there were no chairs to be seen. It was as if the place had been bewitched and worse than even that fucking twee bunch of Irish popsters.

https://youtu.be/UvjLgjtJKsc
<sup>*and why the fuck is the horse-faced one about twenty years older than the others?*</sup>

*The chairs, man? Oh yeah. Like, there aren't any in this wing. They made these standing desks. Didn't you get the email?*

*Cthulu* tried to look both helpful and smug, which made him look like a cat staring open-mouthed in disgust at the neighbour's dog clumsily but hopefully smearing beef paste over its penis. 

*Only old people read emails.* 

I sniffed disdainfully.

*Erm, well, no. That is not correct?*

*Cthulu* stuttered in disbelief at my response. 

*Yes, it is correct, hobo.*

I raised a hand to cut off any more nonsense from the tremblingly bearded *Cthulu* as I caught sight of a magnificently stern and slim-looking woman clip-clopping along the aisle between desks whilst tapping angrily at the tablet she held like a french cigarette in her hands.

*Excuse me! What happened to the chairs? What's going on?*

I put on a posh accent just in case the lady was working-class and it made her want to give my face a wipe with her *thunder cranny.* 

Working-class British people love a posh accent. It's genetic, a built-in subservience from centuries past. I could literally walk into any shop and honk like a posh goose and the owner would try to wank me off with his sister before giving me piles of money for the pleasure.

The Stern lady looked at me as though I were a dalmatian puppy and the 101 other ones she had were not quite enough.

*Didn't you get the email?*

She said in a furiously posh voice. It was posher even than my pretend posh voice and that was posher than a polished ebony walking stick with a silver handle in the shape of a wolf's head.

*Only old people read emails.*

I said dismissively, waving a hand in the direction of *Cthulu* who was trying to say something clever but was hampered by having to twist and bend in awkward directions to hide his erection at the sight of a lady in a skirt.

*Ha, oh that's a good one. You're funny.*

*Clip-Clop* laughed like a filthy drain then stopped and frowned. 

*You were joking weren't you?*

She closed the case on her tablet and fixed me with her smoky black eyes.

*Wahaha, of course I was joking. I open ALL my mails. Even the shit ones from the likes of him.*

I gestured contemptuously at *Cthulu* who by now had settled into an odd half-crouching sulk.

*Oi!?*

He feebly croaked.

*So you will know that we got rid of the chairs in the East wings and introduced the standing desks? Much better for you. Great for your calves.*

*Clip-Clop* turned one of her gazelle-like legs to the side and smiled somewhat vivaciously.

*Yes, and it's good for the likes of beardy to stand a bit and give his down-belows an airing too.*

Again, I gestured at *Cthulu* who was providing me with a never-ending seam of material to impress my new posh lady friend.

*Oh god, you are awful.  But that's funny! Oh, poor Colin.*

She flashed a pitying smile at *Cthulu* who promptly had to start contorting again. 

Stepping in close, she reached out a hand and flipped my ID badge over and looked at it closely before nodding.

*Ok then. I am just going to mark you in as one of the standing desk pilot users. So, on a scale of 1-5 would you give them a 4 or a 5 for how good they are?*

She tossed her hair to the side and fixed me with a smile brighter than the sun itself.

I felt things twitch and growl in my nethers.

*These damned things? A fucking one and I am being generous... I am kidding. I love them. A five all the way!*

I slapped one of the desks as if it were a horse that I had just rode in on.

*Oh, that's fabulous. Well, I better be off. See you later!*

With another toss of her lustrous mane of hair, she clip-clopped on her big jaggy heels through to the next wing.

I let out a big sigh and threw my bag dispiritedly at the *Standing Desk* near to me.

*Fuck sake, man. Standing desks, what a load of shit. I can't believe I have to stand and work. Fucking hell.*

Snorting like a pig denied figs, I flipped open my laptop.

*Hey, you told her you loved them?!*

*Cthulu* cried indignantly.

I huffed and shook my head.

*Colin, I think you have penises in your beard. Now shoosh, I am trying to work.*

Damn, my legs were already sore.