Paul was eating a muffin from his left hand while combing his hair with his right. His girlfriend, Tiffany, was shouting at him to get the raise in salary he'd been promised by his boss, and demanding a more showy car; Saab or Mercedes, preferably.
It was proving difficult to fend off her accusations, what with the clutter of other thoughts that had kept him awake most of the night … again: The boss, the dodgy co-operations with soft drink corporations and agribusiness; the politics; the backhanders; making each party think they were the top priority; lobbying; getting the most bang for the buck - his boss demanded all this and more.
Paul had wandered into their bedroom to use the mirror for combing his hair, and Tiffany raved.
'You're dropping crumbs onto the carpet, you loser!'
Suddenly she lost her temper completely and started throwing pillows, clothes from her wardrobe – from one of her wardrobes – bottles of scent and cosmetics. The scent bottle smashed where it hit the door-frame.
Mustn't dwell on work while eating and combing, he thought, absent-mindedly biting the comb.
'See you later,' said Paul, as he escaped through the front door.
Paul took a can of high-calorie, caffeinated sugary drink from the large box in the boot of his Audi, then drove into the traffic jams heading for the city centre. His boss had texted that a representative of AgriMax (the corporation specialising in growing fodder for their cattle ranches) was coming to see him about the adverse publicity the left wing and tree-hugging media were bashing them with, and what did he intend to do about it.
There were rumours that MacDucks food empire were going to buy out the public relations company so that they worked exclusively for their new owners. This raised problems of obligations to their existing clients, and a MacDucks bullish representative hinted darkly at declaring the Public Relations company bankrupt (which wasn't far from the truth) and starting afresh with a new name and no obligations at all.
This also gave the opportunity to shed any slackers on the workforce, and also get rid of anyone in danger living long enough to draw a pension any time soon.
Paul indicated, verged to the right for the exit lane from the highway, eliciting blaring horns from the drivers he'd cut up. Mustn't dwell on work while driving, he thought. He guzzled his can of power drink while negotiating the tangled multi-lane approach to the commercial district.
(tags: consumerism, corporations, fiction, junk food, satire, yuppy, fast food)