Prawn Franco

Laydeez, may I join you?

Something elk-ish spoke.

I flicked my head back like an offended horse.

Laydeez!? I looked around me at the lunch table. True I was sitting with a couple of ladies but it had been a long time since I had been mistaken for one. Bloody cheek.

The laydeez man sat down across from me, plonking down a plastic tub and attempting what looked like a sitting down bow before smugly smirking. He was a large man with a complexion like sweating green beef.

I looked at the two girls beside me, Angles and Shiraffe to see if one of them knew this interloper.

Judging by their blank looks, none of them did.

We had been sent on a short training course today. We are GDPR. And sadly, yes. It was really called that.

It was howlingly dull. But at least it was lunchtime and we had been having a giggle up until GreenBeef had sat down.

Oh well, I guess seats were limited. I am sure he would keep himself to himself and not annoy us...

So what's on the agenda today, girls?

GreenBeef casually interrupted our chat.

We're on a training course.

Said Angles giving him a flat stare as if he had spontaneously shat in her handbag.

Training eh? Who's the trainer?

GreenBeef smiled with self-satisfaction as if he had successfully climbed a flight of stairs.

Mavis something or other.

I replied.

GreenBeef looked past me at my two female work colleagues as if I didn't exist.

I'm a trainer myself. This is where I work.

He expanded his arms out to the sides as if clutching at a lapdancing elephant.

Good for you. Now if you don't mind, we were just having a bit of lunch.

I said with a polite half smile as if I didn't want to beat him like a tambourine.

This time he seemed to have heard me but still didn't look my way, instead he started fiddling with the lid of his plastic lunchbox.

Lunch, hmm. Well, it just so happens that I'm having a bit of lunch myself...

He flipped open the lid of his lunchbox with a flourish as if to unleash a magical unicorn made of gold coins and chocolate cocks.

Instead, inside was some bland looking pasta in a red sauce.

May I present... Prawn Franco!

GreenBeef whirled his fork around before spearing a curly looking thing from the box and holding it up.

My own secret recipe might I add.

He leered at Shiraffe and Angles as if sure that the sight of his limp tomato'y prawn would goad them into a penis-munching frenzy.

What an annoying, lecherous prick. I made to open my mouth to tell him to beat it but Shiraffe got in first.

Oooo... Prawn Franco...

She breathed in an unsettling way.

Did you call it that because your name is Frank and it's got prawns in it?

Her eyelids fluttered madly as if to escape from her face.

Why, yes. How did you guess?

GreenBeef preened.

Frank. You're a wank. Now fuck off, we're chatting.

She glared at him with an eye so steely it could chop man-apples.

GreenBeef huffed and puffed, picking up his plastic box and moving to another table.

Bloody men, they're all the same.

Shiraffe giggled.

Hey!

I made a hurt face.

Angles leaned over and patted my arm.

Not you, remember? You're one of the ladies!

The pair of them fell about laughing.

Hmmph. Bastarts.