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Doesn't help that I also live two hundred kilometres, or a three-hour drive, out of town and away from the clinic, because, yes, in a country as big and largely empty as Australia is, you can claim the nearest place with streets and buildings and where fellow humans live as your hometown.
I don't come in every day, usually just two or three times a month. Obviously, a huge hardship for these guys who miss out on my sparkling company. I always make an effort to be in town for the monthly karaoke since there's no good reason the people of Scuttlebutt should be denied.
Given the distance, I don't drive to work. That'd be ridiculous and eat up too much of the day.
So I fly in.
Usually takes less than half an hour, door to door.
That's my one big contribution, I guess. While these guys handle clients who bring their animals to the clinic and visitfarms within an hour's drive from Scuttlebutt, with my pilot's licence, I'm able to cover a much wider terrain.
On the map, Scuttlebutt looks like it's in the middle of nowhere. Okay, let me try that again. While Scuttlebuttisin the middle of nowhere, nowhere is a large fucking place. And it's dotted with farms and farmers who need vet care for their livestock and animals but live too far away for anyone to reach them without a plane.
That's where I come in. I'm able to reach far-flung places that no other clinic can. Australia is a massive country, but most of our resources are where our population centres are, along the coast. The big empty middle doesn't get shit, and it sucks. Everyone should have access to the same basic services irrespective of where they live, but I'll save that rant for another day.
I finish my second cup. "I've thought about it, and, yeah, I'm going to give tonight a miss."
"No fucking way." Fitz pins me with an unimpressed look. "You skipped karaoke last month. We need you, Wilby."
"Not really in the mood."
"You said that last month."
"It's still true."
"Bloody hell. Don't tell me it's that fucking guy."
"Fine. I won't say anything."
"What guy?" Linus looks up from shaking the empty packet of Tim Tams. "Oh, wait, the guy with the eyes?"
Muir bobs his head. "The guy with the eyes."
"Has everyone heard about Col?" I grumble.
"Ryde probably hasn't," Muir jokes.
"It's not natural seeing you like this," Fitz says, assessing me seriously.
"Seeing me like what?"
"With this whole vibe you're giving off."
I roll my eyes. "And what vibe would that be?"
"This whole being stuck on a guy vibe. That's not you, mate. You're the king of casual. The guy who treats fucking like a game."
Muir nods. "I think it's time we face facts, fellas. Wilby Jebediah Linfox, the world's biggest flirt, has got it bad."
I sigh and get up. Once these guys have something in their thick heads, there's no stopping 'em. Even if they happen to be right on the money this time, I'm not in the mood to hear them pointing out what I've been trying, unsuccessfully, to block out of my head for the past month and a half.
I do have it bad. Real fucking bad. Over a guy I will never see again in my life. How fucked up is that?
Fitz changes tack, going for the sympathetic-slash-light-blackmail angle. "Even though you might not be up for karaoke, you might want to reconsider not going tonight. You know…" He points up.
I grumble.
This fucking superstition.
