His phone buzzed in his pocket, and for a just moment, Voldo considered ignoring the undoubtedly pointless text from his dear Mr. Vercci. Of course, deep down, he knew he never would. He was a diligent guardian, and he cared about the boy, no matter how much of an annoyance he was. With an exasperated sigh of utter defeat, he dug the overpriced piece of plastic out of his pocket and glanced at the screen.
[msg from Mr. Vercci:] hurry up w that ducking soda
[msg from Mr. Vercci:] *fucking
[msg from Mr. Vercci:] also can you send me an extra life on candy crush? thanks
That boy and his ridiculous phone games. And he dared to scold Voldo for indulging in a beer and a cigarette every now and again? What a hypocrite. It was the same concept: addiction, plain and simple. Despite his despondent mood, Voldo opened up that stupid, annoying, technicolor game and did as asked, before continuing on his way to the school cafeteria. Vercci always thought himself above anything served in that hellhole, and honestly, Voldo couldn't fault him for it. Regardless of the poor quality of the food, however, soda was soda, and Vercci deemed the school's Mountain Dew "acceptable." They should have been honored.
At six feet tall, Voldo towered over the students. In fact, the only people larger than him were a handful of the "jocks," as well as many of the more unfortunate members of the school district, if comparing girth. One particularly large woman, a lunch lady just a little over his age, always gave him hell.
"Running errands for your little master again, Vince?" the woman teased. Voldo never bothered to remember her name, clearly emblazoned on the little plastic tag attached to her uniform.
For a moment, he considered asking her about work: if she enjoyed slaving away at a thankless, soul-sucking job for minimum wage, all to go home to an empty, joyless house with insufficient heating, no husband, and no children. Or if she knew that her ovaries were slowly shriveling up to nothingness, and how if no man had wanted her for forty years, then it was likely that no man ever would. He wondered what she would do if he told her that she was balding, and that he could practically smell her desperation. She started wearing lipstick and perfume the day after her most recent birthday.
"...Don't call me that." He always hated that nickname. "Mr. Vercci just wants his usual Mountain Dew. ...Hand it over, and I'll be on my way."
"Mister Vercci? Oh, he has you whipped, doesn't he?" the woman laughed, a toothy, gummy smile, as she held out the bottle of soda. When he moved to take it, however, she tugged it away at the last second. As usual, her stupid jokes were holding up the line, causing the children to whine and complain all the while. He thought about pointing out the fact that she had gained weight recently, and that nobody cared enough to stop her from snacking on that chocolate bar in her pocket. He squeezed behind her (no small task) and opened the fridge to get the soda on his own.
"...Behaving like a child isn't going to give you back any of those wasted years. In the meantime, while you're busy playing as a schoolyard bully, the actual children are starting to throw a fit. You might want to get back to work before you're the one on the whipping post."
He shoved the bottle in his trench coat pocket before stalking away, back to Vercci's private room. He absolutely hated his job, demeaning in every sense of the word. Nobody ever showed him any respect: not Vercci, nor the students, nor the faulty members. Of course, he could have gone on a tirade about how many people he killed in whatever equally gruesome ways, or what injuries he sustained himself, but defending the last remnants of his pride wasn't worth the emotional toll of reliving any of that.
