"Now, Tony, I know you don't give a fuck." The Manager's head rested there, just above my cubicle. His hands looked like they'd wrung out a bundle of invisible snakes, being crushed evermore under his grip. "The client thinks he has sway with you, said you'd take care of it. Wherever did he get this idea?"
My blood froze. I'd never understood the saying until that moment. Spiny shatters of cold sweat dripped down my back to pool as the moisture loosened my grip on my calmness. I could feel it float gently away from me, already far out of reach.
"I have no idea why he would say that," I managed.
"It couldn't be due to the fact that you've been working off the clock for him, could it? I mean, I guess what else could it be, you know? When the only fucking VPN access is found in your fucking computer?"
"Boss, I told you, I was busy all weekend. I swear. My brother-"
"Could have been sucking your dick, while you were squeezing in some unpaid hours for your best buddy the client, is it? Could have been rubbing your toes while you snuck in here, logged in and started pulling files?"
"No, I was-"
"I do not give a fuck what he told you or what you were thinking, because I will ensure that this is the last time you ever exercise that little fucking muscle of yours."
"No, I was-"
"I do not give a fuck what he told you or what you were thinking, because I will ensure that this is the last time you ever exercise that little fucking muscle of yours."
"Boss, I-"
"Give a shit? Fucking join a mission, Tony! Fucking start a Twitch channel to con other motherfuckers like you to give a shit!"
My head was in my hands, my fate having already fallen through the floor. "I swore I'd blocked his number-"
"You do not give a fuck at this company!" the Manager roared, pounding the thin metal frame between my cubicle and the next one.
He glowered at me, his lurid rage brimming behind wide eyes, threatening to swallow the room around him. He turned with a snarl to the rest of the room, then padded back to his office and slammed the door open.
Under the cool promise of titanic consequence, all productivity shot downward, to remain there the rest of the day. The Manager made double rounds that afternoon, a predator's gait scoping the staff to ensure phones were open, memes were shared, and phone calls went unheeded.
He moved his chair to sit directly in the frame of his office door. The Manager's door always stayed open.