This has not been a good week at work. The details are numbing, so I'll boil it down to its essence: I have a ton of work to do, and the staff has been chugging retard pills like they're Heroin M&Ms.
Bonnie, particularly. Today she had a morning so inept, it rippled through the entire staff—wasting time, controlling damage. It's days like that the small-business owner feels sorry for himself. And if he's prone to feeling sorry for himself, as I am, then he's a pig wallowing in pools of fetid self-pity.
I'm pretty sure I just called myself fat.
Last week, attempting to de-dogify my car, I paid $130 to have the interior detailed. When I went to pick it up, the GPS/stereo display screen was dead; it had gotten wet. Thus did they keep my car another week, waiting for replacement parts from the dealership. $3200 in replacement parts.
That company's net loss on the detailing: $3070, plus labor, plus the loaner car. Ow.
"I'm so sorry about the inconvenience," said the business's owner as he shook my hand.
"I'm so sorry about your ledger," I replied, and he nodded pitiably.
On my way home, I imagined the guilty employee, doubtless fired, going home and explaining in detail about how The Man screwed him over.