The Sad Ballad of Vitaliy

He is my coworker. His job title runs ‘native speaker’, but he is not. He’s Vitaliy. He’s Russian. And he loves tuna fish. Hobbies include ‘getting little buzz’ and ‘hang house’. Recently wed to a Korean lady. Possibly strangest person I’ve ever sat across from. I’m almost face to face with him, between the space in our computer monitors. Since he’s not a native speaker, it takes him roughly a century to complete anything English related. He always has the appearance of diligence. Everyday he eats tuna fish out of a can with either rice, noodles or ramyeun. This is fucked. More fucked is that he’s moved onto airplane food meals. All his food smells bad and everyone looks distressed when he eats. He eats at his desk. I don’t want to hate him, but I do. Stupid russian fuck. I still like tuna, but not as much now. Cocksucker stole a piece of my palate and I’ll never get it back.

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