Not cool man

Slightly annoyed that Simon had scared away the first cute girl he’d flirted with in ages, Oliver finished the shift in sullen silence. Simon, sensing his mistake, gave Oliver a wide berth as the final patrons filtered out into the night. Simon hooked his phone into the sound system, turning on a mellow playlist to fill the silence between the men. Oliver decided that holding a grudge against Simon over interrupting his flirting wasn’t worth starting a feud with his most regular coworker. Sighing, Oliver moved to the sound system and unplugged Simon’s phone; replacing it with his own playlist that was far more energetic.

Simon cried out in mock offence “you heathen! How dare you interrupt the dulcet tones of a far superior artist to turn on this- this mass-produced drivel!” Oliver let out a laugh “Sorry there old man, just thought it might be nice to listen to something from this century”. Simon feigned a swoon, gasping audibly to accentuate his dismay.

Their moods brightening considerably, they amiably joked and chatted through the closing procedure. Standing over an oversized box of miscellaneous pint glasses and decorations Simon beckoned “Ollie darling, give us a hand with this crate, would you? Don’t want to fall down the stairs to my ****.” Ollie helped Simon lift the surprisingly heavy box, and in unison they moved it down the narrow stairs into the basement. Oliver wasn’t sure how, maybe the width of the box hampered his movements, or his foot moved instinctively, but the warped and ancient door to the basement swung shut behind them as they triaged the box down to the corner of the basement. Returning up the stairs, Oliver was the first to realize that somehow, the deadbolt of the door had engaged- trapping them in the basement with no way out. “Um Si” Oliver began as Simon came up the steps “the door won’t open.” Simon looked at him quizzically, “what? What do you mean it won’t open? Give it a tug!”

The pair tried in vain to wrest the door open, the unsuspecting frame proving remarkably resilient to their efforts. Panting, Simon sat dejectedly on the stairs and reached into his pocket for his phone, hoping Mike or Carlos would be able to come rescue them. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me” Simon exclaimed, aghast at the realization that they’d left their phones on the speaker upstairs. Oliver paled when he came to the same conclusion, his pockets empty of everything but his wallet and house keys. “Damn Si, I’m sorry. I think we’re fucked.”