jobs
"You want me to work at a GAS STATION?"
Bond pushed his steganography textbook back across the breakfast table and tilted his head toward his father with an expression caught between aghast and disgusted. Disghastic, maybe. So he looked at his father disghastically, and his mother caught the sugar bowl just before the edge of the textbook tipped the spoon out of it but said nothing, so she could play Switzerland during the forthcoming war.
"You're living at home to save money, and it isn't even your money!" Jean tossed the gas station application onto the table. "You could contribute to the household - "
"This is about me eating all the pretzels last week without buying more, isn't it? You're still mad at me about the pretzels."
"It isn't about the pretzels, but you could damn well buy your own pretzels anyway."
Bond sighed dramatically and pulled out his wallet. "What do pretzels cost, like, three dollars? Here, I'll get some more pretzels." He acted out searching for the money - rifling through his wallet before tipping it upside down and shaking it, turning all his pockets inside-out - and then turned to his mother. "Can I have twenty bucks?"
Therese flipped a page in the newspaper crisply. "This is between your father and yourself."
Bond could recognize the signs of Implacable Authority in both parents. Even his dad was making the Responsible Adult face, which meant it might be as long as a month before he forgot about it and stopped pestering Bond over it. He sighed, dramatically. "Look, if I have to get a job, I will. But you brought me an application for a GAS STATION. Can you even imagine me working at a gas station?" Given that he was unshaven and had just tipped his breakfast cigarette into his coffee cup, the idea wasn't as much of a stretch as he'd have liked, but a quick gesture successfully highlighted the quality of the tailoring in his pinstripe trousers and french-cuffed shirt, the gloves below the cufflinks and a silk tie loose around the collar. "That's like an INSULT."
"I worked at a gas station when I was in school." Jean prickled slightly.
"But I mean, you work in the administration office. You could put me in some plush work-study with, like, my own corner office and a secretary who never wears a bra - "
"/I/ don't even have a secretary who doesn't wear a bra - see, Princess, if YOU would - "
"This is between your son and yourself," Therese murmured, hiding a smile behind her coffee cup. "Bond, your father wants you to do AC as a civilian for a while."
"I think it would teach him how to do something besides being a jackass," Jean argued to the room at large. "Besides, it's the station I always stop at on my way to work. I could use his employee discount."
Bond looked from his father to the application to his mother to his father to the application, then sighed again (dramatically) and pulled out a pen.
He got the job four days later, began working alone on the night shift, and one night after the paychecks were issued he locked up the store at the end of his shift and never returned. The accounting books never showed the slightest discrepancy.
Bond pushed his steganography textbook back across the breakfast table and tilted his head toward his father with an expression caught between aghast and disgusted. Disghastic, maybe. So he looked at his father disghastically, and his mother caught the sugar bowl just before the edge of the textbook tipped the spoon out of it but said nothing, so she could play Switzerland during the forthcoming war.
"You're living at home to save money, and it isn't even your money!" Jean tossed the gas station application onto the table. "You could contribute to the household - "
"This is about me eating all the pretzels last week without buying more, isn't it? You're still mad at me about the pretzels."
"It isn't about the pretzels, but you could damn well buy your own pretzels anyway."
Bond sighed dramatically and pulled out his wallet. "What do pretzels cost, like, three dollars? Here, I'll get some more pretzels." He acted out searching for the money - rifling through his wallet before tipping it upside down and shaking it, turning all his pockets inside-out - and then turned to his mother. "Can I have twenty bucks?"
Therese flipped a page in the newspaper crisply. "This is between your father and yourself."
Bond could recognize the signs of Implacable Authority in both parents. Even his dad was making the Responsible Adult face, which meant it might be as long as a month before he forgot about it and stopped pestering Bond over it. He sighed, dramatically. "Look, if I have to get a job, I will. But you brought me an application for a GAS STATION. Can you even imagine me working at a gas station?" Given that he was unshaven and had just tipped his breakfast cigarette into his coffee cup, the idea wasn't as much of a stretch as he'd have liked, but a quick gesture successfully highlighted the quality of the tailoring in his pinstripe trousers and french-cuffed shirt, the gloves below the cufflinks and a silk tie loose around the collar. "That's like an INSULT."
"I worked at a gas station when I was in school." Jean prickled slightly.
"But I mean, you work in the administration office. You could put me in some plush work-study with, like, my own corner office and a secretary who never wears a bra - "
"/I/ don't even have a secretary who doesn't wear a bra - see, Princess, if YOU would - "
"This is between your son and yourself," Therese murmured, hiding a smile behind her coffee cup. "Bond, your father wants you to do AC as a civilian for a while."
"I think it would teach him how to do something besides being a jackass," Jean argued to the room at large. "Besides, it's the station I always stop at on my way to work. I could use his employee discount."
Bond looked from his father to the application to his mother to his father to the application, then sighed again (dramatically) and pulled out a pen.
He got the job four days later, began working alone on the night shift, and one night after the paychecks were issued he locked up the store at the end of his shift and never returned. The accounting books never showed the slightest discrepancy.