At work I went into Sourpuss's office to ask a question regarding a testy customer. What the customer kept demanding required manager dust and I probably have the fuck-you equity to pull such a stunt I don't want to jeopardize my sole source of income.
While waiting in front of her desk I looked down and noticed on the second shelf of her in-out box was a notebook. It was one of those steno notebooks the managers use when there are new policies or Shit's Going Down. While pretending to examine my sneakers I noticed this:
Adrian - Keep
Mrs. Fidel - Keep
Ms Lane's Son - couldn't make this out
Rest was hidden by the box
In addition to being told of a $300 bonus that made me relax a bit at work. If I play my cards right and I'm not able to find work then I'm going to be there 'til the bitter end. That's almost as acceptable as walking out on my own two feet. I promised that to myself on 5/13/02 as I entered the office full of performance anxiety.
The other night Barack Obama came to town. He rode from my current financial institution which no longer owns part of my gasoline-powered vehicle to Acacia Park to deliver a hopeful message about his campaign and the future of these once-grand United States.
He stood in front of Uncle Wilber's fountain, hands on his hips and a bicycle leaning against the epynonymous fountain. "I rode my bicycle here today! Seventy seven miles were covered under my own power and this is a power that each and everyone of you possess in yourselves. It's time for America to focus on itself." In my mind's eye I started to query Google maps and saw he was lying through his teeth. The route between the southwest corner of Acacia Park and my financial institution is significantly shorter than seventy seven miles.
Last thing I recall was shouting about how he's full of shit and no better than McCain.
