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Me, yelling at my live in maid because I can't find my sandals so I can have a beachside walk with my VP where we discuss the best way to destroy documents pertaining to the Congalese strip mine one of our shell companies owns the debt for: "Lucita! I said KEEP THEM NEAR THE DOOR! NEAR THE loving DOOR!" Unaware that my elevated heart rate is shaving weeks off my life, bringing my inevitable heart attack that much closer, I lean into my rage with the backhanded racism my father taught me between coke lunches he dragged me to when he ran the company: "SO hard to find good help. I should loving deport her..." Eventually Laura (I always forget she's not Mexican) finds my sandals, and my VP and I talk for 3.5 minutes in coded vagaries about "getting a handle" on things, and how to "downsize documentation." We both agree that someone else will take the fall for this, and he will hire that person ASAP. We will bill this meeting to the company as a Senior Management Retreat, which will pay for my daughter's second thoroughbred's stable fees.
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Oct 16, 2020 22:46
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| # ¿ May 16, 2024 23:25 |
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