Hating Fattys: My point of no return - 5 hours in 2014 It's febuary and I'm back at work a 1 euro job to keep people out of unemployment statistics after getting the flu. The place has two workrooms and everyone from downstairs is supposed to show their face upstairs where the supervisor and they guy that writes down your attendance are. Let's call those guys Super and Mike. As I round the corner I hear "MIIIKE~!!" It's the moustached fat woman who can't go up because of muh knees and muh asthma. The bathroom, coffee, her fat receptionist friend and the occasional cake are also located upstairs. Strange how her knees aren't a problem when those are concerned. Why doesn't she work upstairs so she'd only have to use the stairs once? It'll become quite clear in a minute. "Hey Sour_Kraut tell Mike I'm here" - "Do I look like your carrier pidgeon? Yeah, sure" Mike heard her bleating and he gives no fucks. I get inside the workroom and Moustache stays out to have a smoke. Muh asthma tho. The workspace next to mine has a new occupant. My guesstimate is 350-400 lbs of greasy haired beast. Well then. Sometime around 8:30 Moustache gets in from her first smoke break, shortly after the new guy next to me is getting something out of his bag. I look over and see a bunch of syringes. You know what's up fph. "Don't worry it's not drugs. It's my insulin for muh shugar" - "I'm not surprised Alri-"  Now let me tell you that later that year something died in the space between my ceiling and the attic and the smell of decomposing corpse got inside my bedroom through cracks in this old ass house. His breath smelled worse than that. I managed not to vomit all through my flu, but when I smelled his breath I had to dash outside and exercise some iron will to swallow some bile back down. 9:00-9:15 marks the time for breakfast break. For some odd inexplicable reason I don't feel like eating so I decide stay put. I scoot my chair a little closer to the table so the Diabeast can get out of our corner. Not far enough though, because his fat fucking gut smacks me in the back of the head. Zero apologies and one breakfast later we try that again. This time my chest is touching the table. Smacks me again. Dafuq... beepboop is the sound Moustaches phone makes as she has decided that she's done with work for now. Eventually she goes for another smoke and mysteriously doesn't return in due time. On my third fresh air break due to the Diabeast talking in my general direction, I head for the bathroom. beepboop from the other stall. Mystery solved. Some half hour later Moustache returns. No more beepboop-ing. Not because she's back to working. Nah, she's going to sleep instead. snores There's a delivery at 11:30 and Super throws the door open, startling Moustache awake. Diabeast is informed that the men unload the van, so he has to get out there. No women allowed because Alex is oldschool. Chest touching the table again and leaning Forward, I don't get gut smacked. My joy is short lived however. The Diabeast returns accompanied by a rank sweat smell. 12:15 rolls around and I say bye to Mike and head to the bus stop. Ten minutes later the Diabeast shuffles up the street. I take the train in the morning and since he was in the workroom before me there is no way he's headed for the train station. Please go to the other bus stop. Nope, he crosses the road and we wait for the bus together. Northwest line comes by. Get on, get on. Nope. Suburbs line comes by. Nope again. East line is next and that's my ride for the next 90 minutes. So I ask him where he lives. "Town 8 miles from here" - "Shit that's east line. At least I won't have to suffer you much longer. If I lived that close I'd cycle here" - "My bicycle got stolen" - "You sure it didn't just collapse under you? That sucks" Now that I'm looking at the Diabeast for longer than half a second I notice a few things: He's wearing a t-shirt, shorts and sandals. It's febuary and my feet are cussed cold inside sheeps wool lined boots. While his feet... dafuq? What are all those blackish spots on his legs? Are those scabs? Is that a beetus thing? I know what isn't a beetus Thing though. His fucking toe nail fungus. We get on the east line and I let it go first, because I want to sit as far away from it as I can get. Where does he place his fat ass? Take your guess now. If you guessed: 'The seats for the disabled and elderly' you are correct and win nothing. The Diabeast strikes up a conversation with Earring the bus driver. "Use your inside voice buddy" is all I hear from Earrings side of the conversation as I seat myself way in the back of the bus. Earring probably told him to exercise, because the Diabeast goes on a rant about muh cundishuns and how he can't exercise. He finally gets off the bus and everyone enjoys some peace and quiet until the school kids get on. That one fat teenage girl sits right in front of me and I get to smell some more rank sweat for 30 minutes. And that's the straw that broke the camels back. I no longer feel like a bad person for hating fattys. Tl;dr: Fattys gonna fat. Sour_Kraut almost vomits and ditches guilty feels about hating fats.