The musings of a madman...

     Mother fuck me… I knew when I got into this shit that I would find myself flirting with international improprieties sooner rather than later.  I’m on the way from service on the car, about to get Ava from school one day and the phone rings… “dafuq, what the hell are all these plus signs and extra digits?” It was an international number.  I wish I had saved it. Caller: “Good afternoon, Mr Phillips.” Me: “No ‘Mr.’ needed, Phillip is my first name.” Caller: “Oh, I am very sorry.  Please excuse my English, it is not my first language.” [ Phlip note : why the fuck am I only now realizing that I should probably be using Moe Phillips for this operation?] Me: “S’all good.  With whom do I have the pleasure of conversing with?” Caller: “My name is Mr. [somethingsoutheasterneuropeanish], I am calling on behalf of my local government in search of a product that you apparently have a unique ability to produce at a very attractive price.” Me: “Ahh shit.” Caller: “

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     So check it… Last month, my man Marlon came to visit for a weekend with the plan of mopping up behind an old conquest he had failed to take action on in the moment.  As it were, the--…  wait… Read the damn story and come back. Welcome back.      So anyway.  Anyone who knows anything about Greensboro knows that we are the 3 rd largest city in NC and the 68th largest in the United States by population (links for reference/proof) .  With that said, we are not the tiny little Podunk town that public schools in larger states and The Andy Griffith Show would have you believe we are. Until it comes down to who is fuckin’ who.      If I never told y’all this, my True Story© is always rooted in things that actually happened.  Somewhere, somehow, some way.  I leave it up to you, dear reader, to decipher where in the presentation I might be pulling your leg – IF I am pulling your leg. And that is the fun of it.      So as it happened, soon after I posted that story,

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October 13, 2008… A Monday      I had been called into a supervisor’s office and asked my honest opinion about the day to day operations in the department.   Pressed for my honest opinion, I gave it and some suggestions for opportunities for improvement with it.   Because, naturally, a problem without a solution is just a complaint. Despite having asked for my opinion and received it quite professionally, the only response she would muster was – and I remember it like it was yesterday – “things just aren’t going to get any better.”      At that moment, I decided that I could no longer remain in that situation and began shopping my resume around the company for a situation that would not land me under one of those “well at least we have a job”-ass supervisors. My problem was my effectiveness.   I can have a laundry list of complaints about something, but if it is what I am tasked with doing to be sure to it that my mortgage gets paid, then I am turning over GOD level wor