So the big audit is finally over. There’s a mandatory “outbrief” at 1 PM, which sounds like something vaguely dirty involving underwear that you’d see during Pride Week. However, I daresay that there will be no fit young blokes at this thing, but rather a slew of paste-eating special snowflakes* that send email of complaint using phrases like “self-appointed experts from the military-industrial corporate-lock-down security complex” with no apparent irony. Those of you who marched with the Rifles of the EUS when history was made will recognize this crowd in a second: Pre-Press.
(A Ghra Mo Chroi, I long to see the boys of the old brigade. Slainte, lads.)
Fortunately, since that particular show is closing, I am back to the firehouse role: sit around, wash the truck, pet the dog, and wait for something to blow up or burn down. I could really use a couple of days of complete downtime at work, not to mention a lunch hour longer than 35 minutes. See, the way I see it, if I’m an exempt employee, and I’m already there 8 to 5, a full hour for lunch and just to be away from the phone and the computer is the bare minimum required by a civilized society.
I have also smoked 3 whole cigars this week. However, it has been so long since I hit the cigars on a regular basis that I have permanently reverted back to the robusto size, which was my go-to ten years ago, rather than the “phone pole with a leaf around it” size of cigar that I was famous for back in the Old Dominion.
Just my luck, by the way, that when I cut my hair down to a 1 setting (as close to shaved without breaking out the Mach 3 as you can get), the weather suddenly turns cool and breezy and my God, it’s 62 degrees out there, are you kidding me? So much for trying to keep cool. Now I just have to avoid sunburn.
(I knocked down some more Black and Red last night, a.k.a. the Diamondback, a.k.a. the Darth Maul. That black-cherry cider is STRONG, but blending with Guinness cuts down the excessive sweetness without compromising the flavor. And they even sell kegs right down the road. I’m just saying.)
Right…time to order lunch.
* Blue Tarp Girl gets a nickel. Who Dat?