A/N: Episode 7!! Eee we're past half way now lol! Brownie points for anyone who can tell which X-Files episode I stole... um, got the idea from :P I promise to not rush the ending of this one! I didn't have a proper plan laid out for the last story so I left myself confused. This one is planned perfectly, so unless it gets wiped, which it won't because I've backed it up 3 times or something xD it should run nicely.
This one has next to no angst, and is really just a fun story. So enjoy! :D
Sick Of It All
Gordon Downey pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He did it away from the mouthpiece of the phone so that the raving person on the other end didn't think he was doing it because of him. Which he was.
'Look, Mr Harris-' He tried to intervene, but it was no use.
'Don't Mr Harris me, sunshine!' the angry caller yelled. Gordon had to move the phone away from his ear briefly it was so loud. 'I want this bloody bill cancelled! You can't charge me fifty quid for something I didn't even buy!'
'It's a credit charge, Mr Harris,' Gordon told him through gritted teeth. 'If you haven't ordered anything in six months then it is automatic. I'm sorry but there's nothing I can do about it.'
'That's ridiculous!' Mr Harris bellowed. 'It's daylight bloody robbery! It's complete and utterly fu-'
He continued with a series of profanities and curses that Gordon was all too well accustomed with working at the call centre. People called him every day about the fifty-pound credit charge, and to be honest he had no idea how it worked anyway. All he could tell them was what the help book told him to tell them, and none of them took it well. So he spent a good three quarters of his day being yelled at like this. For five ninety an hour, it didn't seem worth it.
It was peculiar how everything seemed to come down to money here. He had lived as Gordon Downey for nearly a whole year now and humanity never failed to completely bemuse and intimidate him. They were an aggressive bunch for one thing. Spoilt rotten too. If things weren't going their way they were likely to shout, argue and fight until they got it their way. In extreme cases they declared war.
And all of it was down to money. What the hell was it anyway? A few shiny discs and pieces of paper. They hadn't had anything like that where he had come from. They traded things sometimes, but it never resulted in fights. Not that Gordon had ever seen anyway.
'Okay, okay Mr Harris,' he said finally. 'I'll put you through to the managing department and they might be able to help you.'
'About bloody ti-'
Gordon hung up and sat back with a loud sigh. He rubbed his face with both hands. He groaned when he realised it was only two o'clock. He didn't finish until five.
'Hey Gordie,' a voice came from the booth beside him. He looked up to see Terrance Jenkins peering over the partition. He pushed up his thick-rimmed glasses with a podgy finger. 'You should go for your half hour break before the dragon comes back.'
Gordon nodded and stood up. 'You haven't got any cigarettes, have you Terry?'
Terrance frowned vaguely. 'I don't smoke, Gordie.'
Gordon nodded. He couldn't understand that. Smoking was fantastic – he loved it. He didn't know why everyone was so disgusted by it. He knew for a fact back home the others would love it too. He planned on taking a whole crateful back with him.
Fortunately for him, he managed to acquire one outside from a young woman passing by. She looked mildly annoyed by his request, but she gave him one anyway. Gordon noticed that all smokers have a kind of sympathy for one another. They know how it feels to need a cigarette so if they have some to spare they will share. Some of them did anyway.
So Gordon stood outside his work building, squinting through the bright sunshine and puffing away on his cigarette and trying to figure out a way home. Like he spent every waking moment. His ship had been destroyed, and by now would be nothing but a rusted heap at the bottom of the English Channel. No hope of salvation for that. He needed a new ship, but on a planet where space travel was years away it was practically impossible. He knew they had rockets, but he would rather try and build a giant ladder into space than get into one of those death traps. Of all the planets in the universe to crash land on, why did he have to crash on Earth? On one of the most volatile and useless planets in the whole galaxy?
Just his bleeding luck.
And something else he noticed about this awful planet, there were so many strange and peculiar customs. Only yesterday he was heading home from work when there was a man in his path. He tried to step around him, but the man remained in his way. For thirty seconds thereafter the two of them danced from side to side in some queer meeting ritual. Eventually the man just patted him on the shoulder, laughed, and got past. It had left Gordon feeling so confused and disorientated that he had had to stop and have a cigarette in the middle of the street.
A whole year and things were still completely alien to him.
Sucking in a lungful of smoke, Gordon glanced around the street. There were a lot of people around at this time; most of them buying things with that money that caused so many problems. He didn't like it when it was so busy and he probably would have just remained inside if he had been allowed to smoke in there. Apparently there were fussy people who wanted him to go outside.
He stopped suddenly and widened his eyes. He felt a tingling in his ears, a tingling he got when there was something out of place nearby. There was something different in the atmosphere – something that didn't quite belong. Gordon scanned the area for anything out of the ordinary and finally noticed a couple passing by.
The man was tall with spiky brown hair and dressed in a long brown coat. The girl was shorter, with luminous red hair that was almost blinding in the sunshine. Gordon knew what they were just by looking at them. His kind had a sense for this kind of thing.
They were space travellers.
Which would mean they had a space ship.
Which could mean that Gordon may finally be able to get off this godforsaken rock.
He pitched his cigarette off to the right, ignoring the angry yell of someone who had almost been hit by it, and jogged into the crowd after the two travellers.