I have nothing to do today but suffer. My neck makes crunchy noises now and it feels like there are small invisible bear traps biting into the tendons in my back. I have to continually roll my head around to keep the muscles loose and moving - if I don't, they lock up on me and it's Painsville, baby.
There is precious little for me to do. I've got Chad the Designer doing logo design concepts just to keep him busy and I'm waiting to hear back from Anthony in Legal, who is doing some copyright searches for me on some potential names for The Project, aka QuantumWorks.
It's a beautiful day; fresh crisp air blowing in from the ocean, glowing white clouds scudding across minty blue skies. I should walk up to Waterfront Park and work the kinks out of my back, maybe get some of those donut holes at that one place.
My bitch Chad walks quickly by my open office door, his arms full of papers.
"Hey, Chad," I say. "Got a sec?"
Chad steps in my office, a little reluctantly. He knows this will involve menial labor. He is my bitch, after all.
"How's it going with the logos?" I ask.
"Good, good," he says. Chad is a hipster, a goatee and chain wallet type of guy. Good artist. "I'll have a batch ready by end of day tommorrow. Like we talked about."
Is that attitude I'm hearing? "Hey, while you're up, will you do me a favor? Can you grab me some Pain Crushers out of the medicine cabinet? Oh, hmm, I don't have anything to wash them down with. Will you grab me a cup of water, too? Thanks bro."
Chad looks like he's going to say something, then smiles thinly and leaves.
That's right, Chad. Get me my water.
Man, I am a dick!
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2 comments:
I'm blushing. Thanks Cheryl!
Yes, yes you are a dick. But you're a not-evil-all-the-time dick. And you fight crime. Yeah, the dick-ness takes you down to about -50, but the other stuff more than makes up for it.
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