Get Back To Work!

After I walked the dog in the warm, warm sun on Sunday Sonja decided she wanted to go out for a couple. We soon found ourselves in Fort Royal's Heritage Bar and Grill across the street from the Army Navy. Food is good there and they must have a good forty different kinds of beer available, if you like that sort of thing.

We did not get there until about four so we got to hear three Celtic musicians jamming. It is a regular Sunday at four thing. They were some good.

Once we were done we crossed the street and went into the department store where my parents bought me my runners in the days before Sliverville even had a mall for teenagers to hang out and look bored in. I got to hear something in there you have probably heard before yourself but I am going to share it with you just in case maybe you have not.

Down in the basement, where I was looking at fishing shit like usual, I heard the boss of the floor say, "Get back to work," to one of her underpaid underlings. The underling ignored her as she was deep in conversation with four of her fellow workers. It was near the end of a busy day.

The fucking floor boss did not get the hint and piped up again, "I said get back to work!"

That was enough of the boss shit for the worker who had now been yelled at. "Wait a minute!" she yelled back and continued her conversation. But it sounded like, "Wait a fucking minute you loudmouth cunt!"

My shopping done I headed upstairs but before I did I glanced over my shoulder at the floor boss who knew I had been observing this little piece of labour/management interaction. She was shaking her head hopelessly.

Hard to find good help from us 99 per centers.

That Army Navy needs a motherfucking union.