The Bean Counters Have Spoken

So there it was, Thursday, four days to X-Mas and the roads are practically deserted going into work. Mine is the first car to every red light and it feels pretty good. Then I realize I’m going to work.

Work isn’t bad, it’s not difficult, nor is there any heavy lifting involved. It’s pretty laid back, and nobodies asked me to slay children like in a Cambodian Death Camp or something. At least not yet.

It’s just not me. When I took this job I blasted through the interview with a non-chalance and confidence that I look back on with envious eyes. Why was I so confident? Because I didn’t care. I still don’t. Unlike some, I AM NOT MY JOB. I am an artist, a writer, and when engaged in those pursuits time has no meaning and I am truly myself. Big as life, and twice as fat and ugly.

Those of you (the one or two out there) who know me, already know this. Those who don’t, well congratulations! Another piece of the puzzle that is Jaeger has fallen into place for you. Only 4,999 more to go.

Anyways, I was @ work and it was the afternoon, and there was a slowly dwindling 1.75L bottle of Crown Royal in the Work Booze Fridge’s freezer and I still couldn’t believe I was still there! Out of the forty-seven people employed by the company, there was at last count only fourteen remaining in the office. Fifteen if you include me.

So why was I still there when all our work was done, all that needed to be shipped was shipped, and at the time I was drinking a strong C.R. and diet out of my tall, stainless, Calgary Flames coffee cup? Because to spite the best efforts of the General Manger to allow us to end the week early, the Chief Bean Counter said “NO.”

Then ten minutes later she took off for home. “Sorry boys,” the G.M. told us, “the bean counters have spoken.” Oh, well. . . If upper management wants to pay us to sit around with no work to do and drink for the afternoon, who am I to argue

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