Anyhow

The gratitude of my temporary inmates seems only to ring truer with each passing circumstance. I suppose I may have acquired a skill or two over the years where it pertains to the custodial caretaking that so many in this throwaway culture would prefer to ignore.

It’s not Stockholm Syndrome that these folks have come down with, since I’m not the one responsible for my subjects’ captivity, but it is definitely a similar phenomenon (a guy sure could get used to all the attention, anyhow). My wards do actually receive that kind of no-strings care that the medical insurance industry forgot about as soon as private concerns got their hooks into it (even though their advertising tries to sell a different story).

Perhaps because of this comfort, every single one of our emerging beer-krausening technologies has been behind schedule under my watch. Maybe it was a mistake to combine a halfway house with a chemistry lab. Our three chemists-in-captivity are functioning alcoholics who just use this particular project to get tanked on the job all day–with my tacit blessing, I suppose. Last Thursday, Ernie–the least-tactful of the three–decided to not look both ways before crossing the street on his lunch break (I do give them at least a little time in each week to get out and smell the flowers). Long story short, Ernie got hit by a shipment of cabbages (with a truck attached), survived, and is now suing the city for not putting a stop sign in a 40 MPH zone. As soon as he got back from the hospital, you’d better believe I gave him quite the lecture on roadside awareness!

Devilles – 07:11GMT

Boom. All right, let’s wrap it up. I’m tired of your hesitation here! Don’t you know a high roller when you see one?! Chop chop, kid. 6,000 silver Devilles. Come on, while we’re young! What’s your deal, kid? Don’t think I have the funds to pay for these death traps? 45 grand apiece, what’s that, two hundred and seventy five grand? Eh, close enough. Fine, I’ll carry the zero over by a couple decimal points, just to shut you up. You sure are mouthy, kid. JESUS, do you have those cars yet? I’m on a tight schedule here, college boy. I gotta get these cars to kids with cancer—all terminal. GET A MOVE ON. Does your grandmother know you work this slow? What do you mean you don’t have 6,000 Devilles?! That’s ridiculous! I came to you guys specifically because you’re the largest Cadillac dealer in the tri-state region. Don’t feed me bologna and tell me it’s peaches, kid. How about I I take my business to another dealer? Frankly, I’m shocked that you’d let me walk away from such a tidy commission—the sale of your LIFE. You know you don’t want to look like a loser in front of your buddies when you’re talking about your day at the ol’ watering hole. They all went and got their degrees and cushy little office jobs—the SELLOUTS—while you’ve been sputtering away in the retail sector, waiting for days just like this one. And now you’re just gonna piss it all away. Come on now, how long has we known each other? All right, regardless, I’m a business man who has the funds at hand. I pull the strings. I give people the products they want and deserve. That’s something completely foreign to you, isn’t it, egghead? I mean CHRIST, is there any place in this God-forsaken country where you can buy 6,000 cars in peace anymore?! This is absolutely ridiculous. Yeah yeah, get your manager. Screw you, kid. I’m outta here.

Yeah, Gloria? I’m gonna have to cancel that shipment of Devilles. The sick kids are gonna have to learn to drive in some shitty old driver’s ed cars before they die of CANCER. Oh wait a minute, Gloria, here comes the manager. All right, put a pin in this. Talk to you later. Yep. Okay, buh bye.

Oh, okay. So you’re calling me unreasonable for expecting the fourth-largest Cadillac dealer in the COUNTRY to give me PERMISSION to buy 6,000 cars? First of all, I don’t need anybody’s permission to do anything. We live in a little place called the USA, ever heard of it? Second of all, if I have the funds, how could you peabrains possibly deny me the right to buy as much substandard American merchandise as I so please?! Listen, I’m no dummy. I understand that you don’t have 6,000 Devilles in stock. But is it unreasonable to expect you to pool your resources and deliver them to me this week some time? Oh. Okay. I understand. Well, I’ll just take one then. How much was it again? 40 grand? 45, you say? I think it was 40, boss. Hey hey hey—do you really want to debate me on the price when you flat out refused to accommodate my request just a minute ago? Remember that?! You have some nerve, buddy. Okay, fine. 45 grand. Do you accept traveler’s checks?

That would have been more fun if I could have used my arms…

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