I called my dad an ass.
I got away with it.
In my dream.
We were working together at a car dealership (this part isn’t a stretch, when I was 15, my dad worked at a Chrysler dealership and he got me a job detailing cars) and I was miserable. I had been having problems with a manager there who hated me. (Wow, that part was so not a stretch from my real job in April and May.) Anywho, I had been written up for a few things already and this jackass manager comes into my office and says, “Remember that car you bought a couple weeks ago? Well, the papers were wrong so here’s a $50 refund.” He snaps a $50 bill in my face, then hands it to me. I say, “What… how… when… oh, I don’t care, it’s 50 bucks!”
Jackass leaves my office.
A couple hours later, someone says, “Hey, there’s $50 missing from the petty cash box.”
Jackass says, “I’ll bet it’s in Dory’s pocket.”
My jaw drops and I’m speechless.
The boss says, “Dory, can you please come into my office?”
I walk in and empty my pockets onto my desk, including a crisp $50 bill. He looks up at me and says, “You’re outta here.”
I say, “But wait, can’t I tell you my side of the story?!”
He enunciates carefully… “No. Get your belongings out of your office and leave immediately. I will have someone escort you out.”
I run to my dad’s office sobbing, and ask him to talk the boss into at least hearing me out.
He looks up from his desk and enunciates carefully… “No.”
Again, my jaw drops and all I can say is, “Why?”
He says, “It won’t do any good. You’ve been miserable for months. You’ll find another job. Why would you want to push it?”
Still sobbing (oh, and I am a messy crier), I yell, “It’s about a little something you instilled in me called integrity, you ASS!!!” and I stomp into my office and throw all my crap in a box the ‘escort’ had already provided. I leave the building, already dialing my phone (apparently I’m not Deaf in my dream *snickering*) and my mom answers to me wailing about what just happened. I blubber through the whole story, and I get to the part where I’m in Dad’s office and she starts laughing. I get to the part where I call Dad an ass, and she stops laughing.
“Wait, wait, wait… you just called your father an ASS?!” she asks, her voice chock full of incredulity.
“Well, yeah,” I say.
“And you got away with it?!” she asks even more vehemently.
“Well, yeah,” I answer.
She starts laughing again and manages to get out “Good for you, sweetie” and laughs even harder.
I started laughing then, and snap the phone shut. And as miserable and infuriated as I was the last few months, I am now just that contented. And I drive off for the unemployment office.
Anyone wanna analyze that one?
I had insomnia so bad last night, right on into this morning. I tossed and turned (poor Hunky, I snapped at him a couple times, but to be fair, he was laying there flaunting his ability to sleep. Jerk.) and at 4am, I got up, took some sleeping pills, and then sat at the computer, putzing around reading blogs to wait for them to kick in. They didn’t. At 7am, I went and laid back down and managed to fall asleep. I woke up in a sleepy stupor at 11am to Elli barking her fool head off at Dino because he touched her ball and there was the possibility of it being thrown for her, and she was rather excited about this. Good Lord, we’ve created a monster. The dog and ball throwing, not the boy. OTOH… well, no, never mind. So that’s why you saw my comments at 4am, fatboyfat.
Which leads me to ask, what are your preferences for answering your comments? In the comments, or the start of the next post? Hmmmm?
In other news….
Here’s the pic I promised, but you can’t see the red from this light. It’s black but then when you get closer you can see the red. And it’s shiny. Take my word for it. It rawks. AND rolls. I dig it.
Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude. For reals.