The Reason Why I Hate Mitchell Cornley Pt. I

I haven't written anything decent in a while, and I hope this redeems myself to anyone who've read my [failed] romantic piece, Emily. This also has the be the hardest story I've worked on, probably ever. I hope you all like it. Disclaimer: I just got finished with this part, so It will most likely take me a while to get part two up.

The Reason Why I Hate Mitchell Cornley

The first day I had met Mitch Cornley, I was unaware that it would then become the most regretted day of my life. I remember it all like it were yesterday; I was heading off to my job as a telemarketer, which is what I deserved for not deciding to enroll into college when I was the stubborn age of seventeen.

Stepping foot in the building automatically put me into the usual grumpy mood I had whenever I entered, but then five hours within siting at my desk and thirty minutes of trying to persuade some asshole to buy one of our business' products, I had noticed an unfamiliar, over-weight man sitting one next to my cubicle. He probably was already there since the morning, but that was when I first caught a look at him. The huge piece of lard had terrible acne to be someone over the age of twenty-five and resembled one of the kids I would beat the crap out of down my high school's gold and red plastered hallway for just breathing too hard, which by the looked of how heavy he was, something he did whenever he had to climb a few steps. He also had to have the greasiest, messiest moss of dark, brown hair I had ever seen, almost covering his small, bead-like eyes. My first opinion that formed inside my mind was: This guy has never brought a woman home to his comic book, computer games and mathematical filled Nerd-Galore room, that's for sure.

It was then time for lunch and everyone crowded around the short, black coffee table that up-held a nearly empty box of pizza. Fighting over the last slices of bread smeared with tomato sauce and hoarded with cheese wasn't exactly my forte', so I usually brought my lunch from home. Peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches were one the only things I could make due to my inability to cook well. David Bentley continued to shove me away, even after I insisted I wasn't interested in any leftovers, his huge, beefy arms deeply jabbing into my un-muscled, defenseless ribcage . What a jerk off that dude was. Just like everyone else in this shitty place, he was rude, loud and just an all-around dick. Someone who probably has not been able to use his dick in the past century, Mr. Heidenreich, slowly walked his overly-wrinkled body inside the overly crowded room. No one knew Mr. Heidenreich's true age, but rumors flew around saying he was in his mid-thirties whenever Hitler was at rise. I then noticed that he was also in company with the big, fat guy I saw earlier that day.

"This is my newest employee, and your new co-worker, Mitchell Cornley. He has a background in business, so hopefully you all can take some notes or two from Mr. Cornley." Heidenreich said, pointing his jittery finger at the Cornley.

"I won't be taking notes on how to lose weight from him." David said, laughing so hard it nearly made his rip right through his his white buttoned shirt and possibly tightening his tie so much that it could've sufficated him, his comment also was making a loud up-roar of laughter among the many bodies sqeezed inside the tiny room.

Although he was aware that someone just cracked a joke on his fat ass, Cornley had his eyes pierced on me. I had no idea why, I wasn't even chiming along with the mindless retards that were cracking up at him

To be a bit respectful, I stood up and pulled out my right hand and said "I'm Andrew, Andrew Lebowitz."

Instead of agreeing to shake my hand, he ignored it and responded with "I'm Mitch Cornley."

Feeling a bit stupid after being declined of a nice meeting gesture, I quickly wanted to shake it off and asked "What brings you here? Well, it's a job, of course, but what happened to your last one?"

Mitch then paused, scrunching his forehead together, forming many lines, and looked as though he was thinking up something to reply back. "I moved from a town two hours east a couple of weeks ago," He finally answered. "I had to resign from my old job because of the distance."

I nodded along to make it seem as though I was deeply emersed in the words he were saying, but I couldn't help but to believe the words coming from Mitch's mouth weren't completely liable.

"What was it like having to move all your belongings in the brisk winter?" I added one, curious to what he would say back.

"Er, cold, very cold. Enough with me, Andrew, what about you?"

That quote not being very far off to what I thought he would say, only adding more spark to my fire of speculations.

"What do you mean?" I asked, puzzled.

"How long have you lived in this town?" Mitch questioned me very eagerly.

"I've lived here all my life. My parents moved here when my mom was pregnant with me, and while my dad took his police courses." I said, chewing on my PB & J. I was competely unaware that that last sentence might have been the bidding valediction to my life the way it was.

"He's a cop." Mitch said, not in question for, but like he already have known.

"Yeah." I replied, my blond eyebrows forming over my eyes in a very confused and suspicious look.

"Do you ever think that there's a possibility that your father sometimes arrest the wrong people, you know, like an honest mistake?" Mitch asked, leaning into me, trying to make sure he heard every word of my response clearly and thoroughly.

I paused and thought at such a question. "I don't know, maybe, but if someone who was innocent were arrested they can then prove it in court."

Mitch gave out a faulty laugh, making his cheeks and double-chin wobble, and I heard him whisper "Not all the time."

I was glad whenever lunch was over and I could sit in my white, small cubicle, which was filled with my ex-girlfriend's pictures (who I was trying to win back) held in picture frames my mom gave to me one Christmas, without feeling uneasy with the questions being darted at me by Mitch Cornley, but this only meant I had to go back to calling people to only have them either argue with me or hang up whenever I let out my first sentence. There was nothing I hated more than this job, becoming a male-entertainer would probably be more satisfying, and would pay loads more, though my frame is skinnier than most of the wemon's I come across, and my looks stacks up just as high as the numbers on my scale. The hours continued to drag on and on, and each phone call only got worse and worse by the minute.

"Hello?"

"Hi, I am Andrew Lebowitz, calling from Linksys Corporation, asking if you would like to buy---" The sound of the phone hanging up rung in my ears, and had the same effect on me everytime. You'd think, working as a telemarker, you would get used to things like that. You never do, and every person hanging up is even more dollar bills subtracted from the company you work for.

After five more phone calls the ding of my electronic watch went off, alerting me that it was the time I had awaited daily, time to leave and go the fuck home. I quickly turned my head back and saw Mitch Cornley, eyes tightened and skin flushed as he tried to pull himself up out of his chair, which he was stuck in by the enormasity of his body. I didn't want anything to do with Mitch for the rest of the night, resulting in me quickly gathering my pen and leather jacket, and dashing out of the front, glass door. The icy chill of the night brushed past me, starteling me and making my body shiver similar to Mr. Heidenreich's Parkinson's Disease. Frost accumilated over every inch of the wintery outdoors, making a repetitive crunch noise as I stepped along the concrete pavement. The '03 Chevy I was presented with by my parents for a twenty-first birthday gift came into view. After only two years of driving around in the automobile, it's condition was no where near perfect. The old paint job had chiped pieces all over, leaving rusty patches on the parts that should have been a dark green. Being awfully ashamed of my junk of a car, I usually tried to drive off as quickly as possible out of the lot as my co-workers were wrapping up their conversations with friends. I left the presence of everything I loathed, and now looking back, Mitch Cornely was soon to be one of them.

After time passed after Mitch Cornley's first day, he had surprised me, not by sneaking up behind me while I was searching the web for hardcore porn while everyone else were on their lunch break (thank God he didn't do that), but by appearing one day, with my all-time favorite movie in DVD form in hand.

"Wanted, the best movie ever!" I yelped, possibly too loudly, I saw Mr. Heidenreich's nearly-bald, grey head turn in realization that someone had spoke a sentence. Usually someone had to yell through his ear drum about five or six time, so I must've raised my voice beyond the acceptable limit.

Cornley nodded agressively, his greasy hair whacking against his sweaty forehead. "Anything with Angelina Jolie in it revvs my engine."

"Whose's doesn't?" I asked. "I think it's pretty safe to say that the entire human population would fuck Angelina Jolie if given the chance." I laughed, of which probably the first ever in the God forsaken place.

I couldn't believe it, Cornley and me, actually conversing without making me feel uneased. I then thought to myself, either this is the sign of the Apacolypse or this guy isn't all that bad.

Mitch and I actually became rather close buds after only a short amount of time. One day, Mitch and I decided to go for a walk. The scenery of the spring day was enaffble, from the greenest grass I've seen in months to the beautiful clear, blue sky. With our feet stepping side by side, synconized, one foot after the other, I felt as thought I had the first friend I have had in a while. The first person that increased one of the few reasons I felt to wake in the morning.