How to keep my phony baloney job (2)

The Boxx wanted to check up on me today and found me outside.

Ah, HAH!

He became for a moment as tall as he is wide, but 'lo ! Bad luck for him, golly luck for me.

By an incredibly happy coincidence there just happened to be the homecoming parade passing by. So, of course I'm standing outside.

I heard the tap-Tap drums, Boxx, and marching feet, and martial bells. Thought maybe there was an occupier in town, came out to welcome our new masters. Look! The marching band has new uniforms! The homecoming queen is female this time (my conclusion, anyway) and pretty!

Hey...they're marching into our parking lot across the street. Parade must end here. Tie clip cam, quick! Not good from this distance, though.



They're starting to slack a little, that last block, too. But here come the flags!

Hail hail Freedonia!
We're not allowed to tell a dirty joke!

Of course I'm always hanging outside, and I shouldn't. But what am I gonna do with this good luck, he's caught me and looked up and seen roses and pom-poms and they're chanting now,

"How about,
How about,
How about a color shout?
crimson, crimson
gold, gold, gold, gold, gold , gold, gold,
crimson, crimson
gold, gold, gold, gold, gold , gold, gold!"

The street side crowd clapped and I clapped. I don't think he did.

Then afterwards, it was "say, John. You know, I think this is ridiculous, you having to stand around three hours a day like this. I'm going to talk to Hank. I mean, how many customers do you have now that we got those new procedures?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Well, I only got the Ghandi Jihadi team now, and they take, eh, ...But Mondays and Tuesdays, you know, that's Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday papers, eh...after that, just a few carriers who don't want to phone in their return numbers. Never know. I close at three but I bet we could...eh..."

"We need a smaller window. I'll talk to Hank. Like, what , an hour?"

"Yeah! You're right! Well, no, I'd say two or two and a half. We could cut it down to two and a half. Maybe two." (Great Smirkin' Enemy Skeptics, I'm gonna have to talk to Doof, hope Boxx forgets his good idea or I'll be back in harness eight hours a day.)

"Write me an email, John, tell me who you're dealing with each day, how long it takes, what you have to do and all. Come up with the most feasable time it should take for the Returns Processor. All right?"

"Sure thing! Hell, it'll give me something to do!" I said. "Ha, ha!"

"Good. I appreciate it, John. Everything in for today?"

"Nope, still waiting on two of Ghandi's men."

"Ok, then. Oh! And how's the , eh..." He pointed to his cheek.

"Fine. Just another couple weeks of anti-biotics."

"Oh? So it was infected!"

"Meh." My mind flipped through the ten jokes I've come up with regarding this over the last ten days.

"I got a forgetful face," I said. Whatever that means.

The french horns started to play so I raised my voice. "It's not botherin' me. "

He turned to go back inside, had another look at the spectacle. From the corner of my eye I think he took my measure for a second, a sincerity check perhaps. "Ok, I'll see you tomorrow then. Thanks, John."

I'd like to report that I then raised my fist and shouted "GO TIGERS! YEAH!" But now, my scheming mind was a-reeling and a-hatchin' already.

Must talk to Doof.
______
There is another side to me though, you know. The smart angel.
Maybe I should give up my phony baloney job. When he gave it to me, shook my hand and said "onwards and upwards!" he didn't mention that I'd be working six days a week, sometimes thirteen, once twenty.

Back on the line, eight hours. It would sturdy me up, I'd make more money, and I'd have two days off a week. All I have to do is summon up an instant of doleful determination and say the words: Can I go back to my regular job?

No! no no no no no no.... I'd be a fool!

and yet...

NO. no no no. I'll just have to initiate some new reforms , contrary to my selfishness. Keep the plum job, they think it's important and might actually look good on my record.

WAIT.

I'll talk to a moral philosopher about this.

Like, ...hmm...surely I must know someone who's a good moral philosopher. Course if they're real good, you don't want to talk to them...hmmm....there are my two older brothers, ...not the lawyer, no...There's my sponsor but so far he's only teaching me about women (and man am i on to them now)...There's Anonydoc, I could take or leave her advice and she'd never know since she never reads this scroll after I used that one word. ... Mrs. Applebones, my former supervisor at work...she shouted at me once for sneaking a smoke on the loading dock, i'm not asking her...Pa Kettle...yeah, right, ask a musician , John! haha. I wonder what my dad would say, he was a practical businessman so succesful he must have cheated just a little. Say, today was payday, and i haven't pressed all this cold cash to my face yet...

Well, so long folks, we'll visit later.