Good afternoon. On the, yeahitsfriday, 4:45PM out of the City. I’m going home.
My missus is already at a charity event. My MIL is watching my spawn. MIL wanted to go too, and will be picked up at the House by friends as soon as I get home. I was supposed to take the 3:55PM out of the City, after a long three months of hustle and bustle. Today was supposed to be an easy day. Submit docs to clients, work on some emerging new projects, go home early, report on my favorite co-commuters, and then play with my children. Nope.
Turns out that I am behind on the submittal list, there is a minor but palpable error in the major submittal I sent which won’t be fixed until Sunday, a writeup that’s just not done at all that was due by end of business, and it turns out I just was told I am not allowed to yell and swear at the office. Please note that it is just fine to be the target of yelling and swearing at by others (including aggrieved clients) but it would be unseemly for me to engage the same behavior. I credit the judicious, therapeutic use of alcoholic beverage, a tolerant spouse and my own patience for not pulling a serious USPS-level can of whoopass at work. Well, enough about me.
Your weekend maid is sitting across from me in the jump seat. The 45+ looking, dignified latina is dressed in a black knee-high overcoat and a dark brown sweater. Her hair is cut short, similar to Hilary Clinton’s current look. She has a black and grey handbag with the purse pattern on it – my more accessorized readers would be able to identify the brand. The tired Senora is on her way to her second job in the suburbs.
She will get picked up by a Call-a-Maid van, which will take her to the client’s McMansion to do some expert cleaning in time for a dinner party tomorrow, where the host and hostess are entertaining the local Rotarians in hopes that these aged pensioners will be amazed at their new line of juicer devices made specifically for the arthritic user. Her little .22 can be seen next to her change of clothes in her other bag.
YAY! Cube-head is here! Our symmetrically cerebral co-commuter is in his casual Friday wear, consisting of brown cargo pants with extra pockets and a brown jacket with green-white-beige horizontal stripes (roughly 1/2″ thick each) emblazoned roughly chest-high. My current disdain for all things measured and precise precludes me from diving into my attache case, brandishing my clear, foldable, foot-long (extended (yeahIsaidit)) ruler-plus-protractor, and dimensioning the perfect edges of this man’s most unique cranium. Are his children shaped like prisms? Hexagons? Dodecahedra? Can this man and his lineage finally help establish the perfection of Platonic Solids in nature?! I’d ask the man, but he is asleep with arms crossed and a .9mm SigSaur peeping from his jacket. Nobody seems to mind
Also here are Precious, Nazi Ark Hunter, Ricky Martin, Clinton Kelly, Sally Fields from Mrs. Doubtfire, and Keith Van Horne. All are armed.
Enjoy your weekend. Safe travels.