Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Frank's Only Friend
"Mmmph..." mumbled Gerard sleepily at about 10am. He raised his hands to his tired, hazel eyes and rubbed them, peeling them apart and rubbing off the crusty sleep. As his eyes gently flickered open, he saw the time on the digital clock on the wooden, dark brown nightstand beside the bed, and he thought about how nice it was to get extra sleep.
Gerard trotted down the stairs, feeling relieved not to be with Frank anymore. Sure, things were different without him, and he hadn't quite gotten used to it yet, but he sure as fuck didn't miss him. He cheated on Gerard, who wasn't a very forgiving person. He was very understanding, but he at least had limitations and standards.
He opened the kitchen cupboard in search of bread for toast, but he couldn't find any. He couldn't find any cereal, eggs, anything. Then, like a ton of bricks, reality hit him - he didn't have a job. Frank wasn't with him, and he'd lost his anyway. The only way he used to get any money after all the failed job interviews was by borrowing it from Mikey, but that was not going to happen anymore.
He went into the living room, sat on the black, leather sofa and thought to himself for a while, until he remembered the old, run-down job centre not far from his house. It was nothing special - in fact, it was pretty shit - the brick walls were crumbling and dull, and it was pretty much a rectangle (With all the fingerprint-stained windows cracked and shattered) in building form, but it was better than nothing. Realising he was still in his white boxers, Gerard dashed upstairs and quickly got dressed. He threw on a simple black vest, black leather jacket, black skinny jeans, black belt and black boots, as he probably didn't need to dress up in his best suit to get a job from the people at the crummy job centre.
He ran outside and to the dilapidating job centre that looked like it was about to crumble into a dusty pile of bricks and rubble, and opened the door. There was no carpet covering the creaky, wooden floor and the dull, beige wallpaper was peeling off of the cracked walls. Shaking slightly, Gerard approached the front desk.
"Hi..." greeted Gerard to the bored, tired man on the basic, blue computer chair behind the desk. His right foot was crossed over his left and they were resting on the desk with the muddy soles facing Gerard. He lowered the crinkled newspaper in his hands to face Gerard, and he pointed to a dark brown door with the words "Get jobs heer" scribbled in black Sharpie on an A4 piece of paper sellotaped clumsily to the door.
"O-OK..." stuttered Gerard, a little clueless as to what he had actually been told to do.
He walked over to the door and knocked on it lightly, but loudly enough to be heard by the man inside.
"Ugh, enter..." he sighed boredly, and Gerard opened the door to find a young man who looked about ten years older than he actually was. He had a slouched back, boring, dull and basic clothes and greasy, unkempt hair. His right elbow was on the table and his cheek was resting on his right palm, and he never made eye contact with Gerard - instead, he just stared out of the square hole in the wall where a window once was. He opened a draw in the desk and pulled out a typo-infested form that was ridiculously unprofessional. He slapped it on the desk impolitely in front of Gerard, who had to stand because there was no chair for him to sit in. It was as if they were trying to make people feel uncomfortable.
"Err, thanks...?" questioned Gerard, searching in his pockets for a pen.
"Can I borrow a pen, please?" he asked politely, and the man silently pulled a pink felt tip out of his off-green jacket pocket.
"Thanks..." muttered Gerard somewhat ungratefully, picking lint out of the lid. He popped the cap off and filled in the form...
name
Gerard Way
dob
April 9th, 1977
spechel skils
Singing, art, writing
passed wurk expeeryense
None
job prefrenses
None in particular
wot ours do u want to wurk
Monday-Friday, preferably about 11am-5pm
how much celery do u reckwire a weak
Gerard just about managed to contain a snigger at the word they had used instead of "Salary".
About $200 at least
Gerard handed the form back to the half-asleep man, who was woken up by Gerard saying "Finished."
The man snatched the form out of Gerard's hand and scanned it lazily, his dark brown eyes darting across the page and most probably not paying any special attention to half of what Gerard had written.
"Alright, Gerald, so, you don't care 'bout what kinda job you get, righ'?" asked the man in his gruff voice.
"N-no, I guess not, why? Oh, and it's -"
"Alright, 'cause you ain't 'alf bad-lookin', and this 'ere form says you want two 'underd dollars a week AT LEAST, an' I fink you'd be an alright stripper."
Gerard's hazel-brown eyes widened in surprise.
"W-well, a stripper? I-I-I don't really know about that, I mean, I know I said I didn't care what kind of job, and I-I really do need one, but -"
"Great, well, then, I'll phone up Naughty Boy and let 'em know you wanna job there."
"No, no, wait, I don't want a job there! I'm not -"
"'Ello, Naughty Boy? Yeah. Yeah, we got some redhead called Gerald, or Jared, or suttin. Yeah. Well, yeah, course 'e's good-lookin'! I'm not gonna gi' you some trampy ol' git like meself to work at a big place like Naughty Boy, am I? Yeah. Yeah, alright, 'ang on a sec - Jerry, is Monday to Sunday, eight in the eev'nin till two in the mornin' good for you?"
"No, it's not, and I don't want to work at a strip club!" protested Gerard angrily and in frustration.
"But I fought you said you din't care where you worked."
"But -"
"Yeah, that's excellent, 'e can do that. Yep. Yap. Uh-huh. Yeah, that's great, bye, sunshine."
It was official. Gerard was working at a strip club, and there was no way out of it.
Sorry for my shitly-named strip club XD
Gerard trotted down the stairs, feeling relieved not to be with Frank anymore. Sure, things were different without him, and he hadn't quite gotten used to it yet, but he sure as fuck didn't miss him. He cheated on Gerard, who wasn't a very forgiving person. He was very understanding, but he at least had limitations and standards.
He opened the kitchen cupboard in search of bread for toast, but he couldn't find any. He couldn't find any cereal, eggs, anything. Then, like a ton of bricks, reality hit him - he didn't have a job. Frank wasn't with him, and he'd lost his anyway. The only way he used to get any money after all the failed job interviews was by borrowing it from Mikey, but that was not going to happen anymore.
He went into the living room, sat on the black, leather sofa and thought to himself for a while, until he remembered the old, run-down job centre not far from his house. It was nothing special - in fact, it was pretty shit - the brick walls were crumbling and dull, and it was pretty much a rectangle (With all the fingerprint-stained windows cracked and shattered) in building form, but it was better than nothing. Realising he was still in his white boxers, Gerard dashed upstairs and quickly got dressed. He threw on a simple black vest, black leather jacket, black skinny jeans, black belt and black boots, as he probably didn't need to dress up in his best suit to get a job from the people at the crummy job centre.
He ran outside and to the dilapidating job centre that looked like it was about to crumble into a dusty pile of bricks and rubble, and opened the door. There was no carpet covering the creaky, wooden floor and the dull, beige wallpaper was peeling off of the cracked walls. Shaking slightly, Gerard approached the front desk.
"Hi..." greeted Gerard to the bored, tired man on the basic, blue computer chair behind the desk. His right foot was crossed over his left and they were resting on the desk with the muddy soles facing Gerard. He lowered the crinkled newspaper in his hands to face Gerard, and he pointed to a dark brown door with the words "Get jobs heer" scribbled in black Sharpie on an A4 piece of paper sellotaped clumsily to the door.
"O-OK..." stuttered Gerard, a little clueless as to what he had actually been told to do.
He walked over to the door and knocked on it lightly, but loudly enough to be heard by the man inside.
"Ugh, enter..." he sighed boredly, and Gerard opened the door to find a young man who looked about ten years older than he actually was. He had a slouched back, boring, dull and basic clothes and greasy, unkempt hair. His right elbow was on the table and his cheek was resting on his right palm, and he never made eye contact with Gerard - instead, he just stared out of the square hole in the wall where a window once was. He opened a draw in the desk and pulled out a typo-infested form that was ridiculously unprofessional. He slapped it on the desk impolitely in front of Gerard, who had to stand because there was no chair for him to sit in. It was as if they were trying to make people feel uncomfortable.
"Err, thanks...?" questioned Gerard, searching in his pockets for a pen.
"Can I borrow a pen, please?" he asked politely, and the man silently pulled a pink felt tip out of his off-green jacket pocket.
"Thanks..." muttered Gerard somewhat ungratefully, picking lint out of the lid. He popped the cap off and filled in the form...
name
Gerard Way
dob
April 9th, 1977
spechel skils
Singing, art, writing
passed wurk expeeryense
None
job prefrenses
None in particular
wot ours do u want to wurk
Monday-Friday, preferably about 11am-5pm
how much celery do u reckwire a weak
Gerard just about managed to contain a snigger at the word they had used instead of "Salary".
About $200 at least
Gerard handed the form back to the half-asleep man, who was woken up by Gerard saying "Finished."
The man snatched the form out of Gerard's hand and scanned it lazily, his dark brown eyes darting across the page and most probably not paying any special attention to half of what Gerard had written.
"Alright, Gerald, so, you don't care 'bout what kinda job you get, righ'?" asked the man in his gruff voice.
"N-no, I guess not, why? Oh, and it's -"
"Alright, 'cause you ain't 'alf bad-lookin', and this 'ere form says you want two 'underd dollars a week AT LEAST, an' I fink you'd be an alright stripper."
Gerard's hazel-brown eyes widened in surprise.
"W-well, a stripper? I-I-I don't really know about that, I mean, I know I said I didn't care what kind of job, and I-I really do need one, but -"
"Great, well, then, I'll phone up Naughty Boy and let 'em know you wanna job there."
"No, no, wait, I don't want a job there! I'm not -"
"'Ello, Naughty Boy? Yeah. Yeah, we got some redhead called Gerald, or Jared, or suttin. Yeah. Well, yeah, course 'e's good-lookin'! I'm not gonna gi' you some trampy ol' git like meself to work at a big place like Naughty Boy, am I? Yeah. Yeah, alright, 'ang on a sec - Jerry, is Monday to Sunday, eight in the eev'nin till two in the mornin' good for you?"
"No, it's not, and I don't want to work at a strip club!" protested Gerard angrily and in frustration.
"But I fought you said you din't care where you worked."
"But -"
"Yeah, that's excellent, 'e can do that. Yep. Yap. Uh-huh. Yeah, that's great, bye, sunshine."
It was official. Gerard was working at a strip club, and there was no way out of it.
Sorry for my shitly-named strip club XD
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