Tom Cruise Has Nothing On Jimmy

Jimmy whipped the feather duster from the trolley, swished it across the silverware and furniture, then, at close range, spat onto the Baroque desk in front of him, smearing away a mark, his boredom reflected in the French polish.

'Hey.' A voice from behind bellowed. 'You missed a spot.'

He turned with a massive smile on his face. One that was as unmoving as bad Botox and held back a multitude of obscenities.

'I may be a lot of things, Maureen. A badly dressed, mid-life crisis contender with an everso slight Tom Cruise height issue but with all his good looks, except the hair, or the looks for that matter, but... I never miss the spot.'

'I beg to differ,' retorted Maureen pointing at a smudge even squinting couldn't detect.

'My mistake', said Jimmy managing to maintain the smile while schlapping on a pair of pink rubber gloves. 

'I'll get right to that.’ 

The place was filling with bidders. He wasn't keen on people. He hadn't been on a date in over a decade and crowds scared the crap out of him. 

He knew if he didn't hurry he wouldn't get himself and his trolley behind the maintenance doors before the gavel hit for the first bid.

He cleaned the spot, raced across the room Mission Impossible style, swerving in and out of the ever-growing crowds, sweeping dust from the final pieces of furniture and picking litter up with precision like it was an unexploded bomb.

He slid through the doors, spun the trolley round to push them closed, pinged off his gloves and whipped out the feather duster quicker than a gunslinger at the O.K. Corral, blowing across the top of it like a pistol.

He smiled.

'Tom Cruise has nothin' on me. God knows why I'm single.'

Written for microcosmsfic.com @microcosmsfic

Prompt: reluctant dater/auction house/ comedy