"I hate my fucking job."
I looked up from the paper, brushing away a lock of my mane from my good eye, leaving the rest to remain in front of the one that wasn't. My roommate was seated from across the dining table, scowling at his plate of sausage and bacon. The cougar was always scowling, though, which earned him the nickname "Scowl". "And this is news ... how?" I calmly asked. I was always calm, but unlike my roomie, this did not earn me a nickname.
Scowl looked up at me. "I got wrote up at work."
My only reaction was a slight raising of my eyebrow. I've been told I was the type to be cool under pressure even if a tornado was bearing down on me. Some folks thought I was self-absorbed, but I'm not. At least, not anymore. "And you hate your job because you got in trouble?" I had never heard of Scowl getting into this kind of situation. Sure, the cougar was for the most part unpleasant to deal with unless you knew him, and even then he was still unpleasant. But he would never shirk his responsibilities. For all Scowl's flaws he was a hard worker.
"No, I hate my job because it's a job. I'm in a dull field of work." Scowl then gave a hateful snort. "Why did I ever think I'd be happy working in telephone operations?" Scowl's eyes moved back to his plate, and the cougar remained silent until he looked back up to see me still watching him. "If you were anyone else, you would've made some type of smarmy remark," Scowl said, "like 'when are you ever happy, Scowl?'"
I gave Scowl a broad smile. "I understand you well enough to know you can be happy, Martin."
"You're the only one who doesn't call me Scowl."
I shrugged. "I'm not keen on nicknames."
"Jolly even calls me Scowl." Jolly was the third roommate, and my boyfriend.
"I'm not keen on nicknames."