So some yahoo told me I should buy TheraFlu to help in my recovery. I needed orange juice and cat food anyway, so after work I stopped at the Gucci Giant where I did indeed find TheraFlu on sale for $3.99. So I got a box of six packets. And I’m at home now, starring at the instructions, and thinking to myself, “Eight ounces? My measuring cups are in cups! Fucking British…”
Thanks to Google, I now know that one cup equals eight ounces. Without the wonderfulness of the interwebnet I would misapply the packet into too much or too little water and kill myself through ignorance. Thank scientists for the internet, and thank whoever created Google for Google!
Still Without Word Verification
(I love me SpamKarma2).
…the throat, the throat, is back. It refuses to be counted out. And I’m out of o.j. Fuckin’ throat.
I take no comfort in the fact that I’m going to wind up passing this on to many of my coworkers at both jobs.
(Well, actually, depending on the coworkers in question…)
Greg was the closing driver tonight (he was scheduled as the late driver but I twisted his arm and he agreed to let me be the late driver so I could go home and sleep … yeah, I went right to bed, does anyone believe that?) and we started talking about what he should name the store’s team, if the store sponsored a little league team or something. It didn’t take long to come up with the name, my winning selection: — “The Two YO’s.”
He laughed. He knows its the truth. Every individual he employes (especially me) has the uncanning ability to act like a two year old. I told him to buck up, it’d give him a nice lecture to give to his kids when they started having kids: “Oh, please, you’ve got one two year old. Years ago when I owned a pizza shop, I employed twenty two year-old’s!”
**
Greg also chidded me for constantly reminding him that I had come in on a day I was sick. I pointed out to him that it would have been far easier for me to call out and leave the burden to find a replacement on him or Zebulon. I also pointed out that I came in on the day I wrecked my car, the day I had plans, and I’m coming in on a day I requested off for last August (Halloween). Besides, it never hurts to remind the Boss Man of all the brown-nosing you’re doing, particularly when you and the store manager aren’t on the best of relations.
