May 19th

I galloped homeward this weekend only to find that my quarter horse now operates not on coins but on dollar bills, 3.97 of them to be precise. I ran into a cavalcade of omnipotent mini-van drivers on the way home; all of them seemed to know the precise moment I was to change lanes and they were all skillful at executing their life goal of keeping me from getting home. When I finally coerced myself past the blockade and into Spring Lake, I spent my evening catching up on The Office and exchanging good-natured remarks with Bert. Saturday was prom for this small sibling of mine, and I also got to visit a red-headed ghost from my past.

I have been officially assigned dictatorship over the St. Louis North plant. Any complaints may be amiably directed to my secretary at 616-638-6504. Only call if you have more than 10 minutes of your day to spare, but don’t be surprised if you have to set aside a larger block of time to complete your conversation with my oft quirky and longwinded associate.

I told Greg that I might let him come to Grand Haven/Spring Lake during one of the Coast Guard weekends, and he flushed with gratitude and perhaps some form of Pink Eye Fever. There are no beaches in Ohio, and I would not be remiss if I claimed that, if he tags along, it will be the first time he has ever seen water.

Erica informed me that on Friday she received a parking ticket which stated that if her car lent its presence to the parking garage again, it would be towed. We in-mates had heard that parking in the garage without a Chrysler approved vehicle was outlawed, but we didn’t actually think they would give tickets or tow the cars. It seems odd, seeing as that one garage is the only one our badges will grant us the right of entry to. So, for now, she has to park here. This alligator, however, won’t shed any crocodile tears because I have a Dodge Intrepid, and it isn’t due to breakdown for another month or so.

When I got back to the cubicle after a lunch consisting of a roast beef sandwich and some fibrous yogurt, I had a phone message (my first!) After half an hour of research culminating in the discovery of the default password for my voicemail, I checked the message. The transcript: “Helllllo. This message is for John Pickford. I was wunderin’ if you was interested in our deal of the week, which is, you know, a, uh, the deal is you buy a 30 minute massage and you get 15 minutes free. If you has any questions or concerns call Tranquil Reflectionz Massage at (313)-410-1874. Ask for Ebony Harris. The deal is good through May 25^th. Have a good day!”

Wherever Mr. Pickford is, I hope it isn’t there.

At face value, the common phrases used around this office are somewhere in the ballpark of half-retarded clichés. The ballpark is located between a rock and a hard place, where the Greatest Thing since Sliced Bread now lives with his sister That’s the Killer. Chances are, back in the day, as far as I know, there was a meet-n-greet that fell short according to the Powers that Be. You know what I mean?

I bought a Brita water filter which is waiting for me at home - and if that won’t hydrate a sardonic salt sucker such as myself I don’t know what will. Sal removed the plastic safeguard from his Subordinate Stinger when he sent out this message this afternoon, “Relevant bullets for today...Erica and Wes already can schedule any Assy Plant themselves..” This is by no means true and I feel Erica would agree. I don’t know what teat Salvador is trying to milk here, but, I assure you, that milk is curdled. Needless to say, several bitter co-workers have told me I can schedule their Assy plants anytime while they surf the ‘net all day. Apparently, egos bruise faster than apples; orange you curious to find out what happens next?