I’d like to thank you for finally fixing the pavement at the railroad crossing near the intersection of College and Lackman. Why you didn’t do this when you repaved Lackman just a few months ago, I do not know. Clearly you knew that no trains would be crossing there ever again. Otherwise you wouldn’t have done a half-ass job at paving all the way up to the rails in seemingly arbitrary points at the crossing. Nevertheless, after months of horrid, ever-growing potholes, it seems you have fixed your error.
A conversation had at work today:
V: I’m not cold.
Me, Overhearing: You’re not old?
V: Cold, I’m not cold.
Me: Oh, I thought you said you weren’t old. Because, you know, you’re old. Maybe because you’re so old you forgot that you’re old.
V: You know, the last person who called me old ended up unconcious for about 6 minutes.1
Me: Fists of fury, baby.
- A while back V got in an argument with a much younger guy at his local gym. The younger guy kept slamming his weights down and leaving them on the floor. V told him that he needed to pick up his weights. The young guy got in his face and told his old ass to shut up. So V socked him in the jaw. As the guy is falling backwards he hits his head on one of his weights and gets knocked out. I guess that’s irony, huh?
These two Dilbert comics apparently pretty accurately describe my work:
My work isn’t really like that, though. Well, it kind of is. C’est la vie.