Jake, a green dragon from Minneapolis, started working at the company I was employed by in 1997. At first, everyone, including me, thought he was a pretty neat guy. No one had ever seen a dragon except for a few nerds that got beat up on our lunch break regularly. And even those poindexter assholes had never seen a green dragon.
The trouble started about a month after Jake hit the 39th floor, working in the Executive Sales Management section. During an office party one night, everyone was bugging Jake to breathe fire, set something on fire, fire this, fire that. Ignorant twats that they were, they had no clue that a green dragon spits acid instead of breathing fire. Breathing fire is for RED dragons, but whatever.
Tommy McKindless learned a lesson that night. The lesson was “don’t get drunk at an office party and beg Jake the big fuckin’ green dragon to spit acid and make shit melt to amuse me/us.” Let’s just say that the paramedics couldn’t distinguish between Tommy, the cubicle he was standing near, or half of the men’s bathroom.
No one hated on Jake then, as it was an honest mistake (well, we thought so then… Tommy WAS an asshole, and his wife was known to sleep around the office, and not just Dalgren Information Systems, where we worked. She was a bit of a… well, you know). Jake took it pretty hard, or pretended to, and everything was quiet for another three months, until Jennifer Ortiz came to work pregnant one day, and let the word slip that it was Jake’s.
Jake denied it, of course, and if you’ve never met a dragon, they are professional liars. Kyle, Jen’s husband, was furious, but, I mean, what’s he going to do? Fight a dragon? This is fucking 1997, remember, not 997 where he can just run home and grab his rusty sword and shitty leather armor in hopes of at least giving a dragon peritonitis or something while being mashed and chewed between massive, razor sharp teeth.