It is 9:08 Monday morning and as I pump gas at the local Chevron*, using my Safeway* rewards discount of 20 cents per gallon, I am clad in my crappiest jeans, on my way to the grocery store for baking ingredients and then to Staples* for ink for my Epson* printer to make my remaining #resist post cards. Standing at the pump, I answer my ringing LG* phone, ignoring the posted warnings about cell phone use around active gas pumps. It is the office. It is not good.
In less than 5 minutes, I am on my way into the office. The day supervisor who had two weeks previously given notice that she would leave Feb. 10 got a burr up her butt over the weekend, came in at 8:30 Monday morning and quit in a blaze of glory, walking out as employees arrived to start at 9 a.m. She left a lovely Sharpie*-written two-page resignation note filled with, of course, misspellings, grammatical errors, and a "big fuck you" to us.
I floor it to Oakland, blasting Springsteen at every moment that I am not on the phone scrambling to get passwords changed and trying to figure out how that damn bitch fucked up a critical part of our computer system on her way out. On that last part, I assume it was unintentional as every time she gets near the system, she fucks it up because, hello, druggie and stupid.
That's when the fantasy starts. What if she's fucked up the system to the point of we've lost months of survey data for our most important project and wreaked havoc in our second most important project which started earlier this month? What if we can't recover? What if my partner and I just decide, "Fuck it?" What if we just figure we've done enough and walk away from the whole thing? What if we just close the business? I'm not a legal partner, so I can't be held personally liable. And the company is incorporated and we make a point of never taking personal liability for anything on the business side, so she should be golden, too.
Man, if that happens, I can devote myself full time to the revolution! I can #resist #VOTUS 24/7. I can...
It's at that moment in the fantasy that I come to the harsh realization that I have no marketable skills for the revolution.
Given that the only New Year's Resolution I have that doesn't fix a defect of mine is to learn to play the harmonica, I don't know that I'll have any real skill in the foreseeable future. But don't let that stop you, leaders of the revolution, because I'll happily learn something new for you. And at least you'll have some fine accompaniment for rallying songs.
*Nope, not paid to hawk, thanks.