OK, imagine for a moment that you work behind the counter at a certain Moe’s, somewhere in Sector 706 of Planet Georgia. A middle-aged couple comes in just ahead of the lunchtime rush and places their orders. As you’re wrapping their burritos, a truck driver comes in. “Hey,” he says, “I got your delivery. I wasn’t sure you wanted it though, I heard this store is closing tomorrow.”
deer in the headlights
“I gotta talk to my manager!” she says, in one word, and dashes down to the cashier. They talk quietly for a moment, then she returns and finishes the order.
That was either a mean joke, or the exact w0rNg way to hear about your impending job loss.
That was last Monday, shortly after I came out of the doctor’s office. Yesterday, I glanced down at the walkway rimming the office and saw:
He’d had the worst kind of Monday, the kind that isn’t followed by a Tuesday. My bob-sister Christina tells me it’s a yellow-shafted flicker, a kind of woodpecker (he got shafted, all right). This isn’t the first bird I’ve seen lying on the walkway after trying to kamikaze the office building — it happens a few times a year — and often they’re just stunned. I’ll scoot the stunned ones off to the side where they can collect their wits without getting stepped on… but this one was beyond scooting. You can see the line of tiny ants marching in for the buffet.
May your Mondays contain no unpleasant surprises.