Dudes and dudettes, I was going to update you when I get back from this melatonin-messing trip but someone pinged me (sorry A., wasn’t me). So I will share with you, my fabulous readers, a peek at some of the places/people I was asked to consult with.
My very first job had me sitting with a bunch of executives in their headquarters. I was assured before I left my lovely, tastefully empty, apartment that I will be meeting with the top 3 guys (or gals with mustaches and whiskers, damn that menopause!) who will give me the info. that I need.
They would do it without invading my privacy by asking where my accent comes from; they’re wonderin’ which state, by the way. And why in the hell did the financial model (pronounced mah-dul) that I sent over doesn’t work. I bite my lip, I’m dying to say that you can’t plug it into the wall and cook your philly sandwich, you hick muthafucka. But I got restraint.
The damn headquarters is a dilapidated building and the execs are the same bastards who can’t balance their worksheets and want more money from the gov. for hiring mustached hags (women) and ex-child-killers (veterans).
I breathe and count to 36 like my uni. therapist suggested (he actually said 10 but it takes me that long to uncurl my right fist). I pick up my laptop bag and pretend that I’m looking for something. Overdressed and feeling icky (what the hell is that stuck to my hem?), I hate talking to people who don’t understand and won’t do anything that I suggest. Get me out of here, tout de suite.
Will write more. How is the fasting going, my smelly compatriots?
Blessings and halitosis-busting haikus to all:
what’s that above your head
a mushroom breath cloud from hell
mints gum wash, please help
The back of the building where I spent an entire morning.
Wasted lives and a damn shame. A couple of young, stoned guys.
