mastercraftsman

Yes indeed. A day to forget. Or remember if so inclined.
Most every workplace in the south has a fellow called "Bubba." He's a jovial, innocent dude who never really gaduated highschool. So Bubba this morning is inquiring about my Saturday night. I told him no big deal, got some chick's number, probably won't call. "She got any friends?" "Dude, this chick was BORN with friends." "So you gettin' any?" "All we did was dance. I maybe grabbed her ass a few times. No big deal."
Bubba is very interested. As always. "So why didn't you call me?" "Someone did. Rick I think. You were out. Playing pool or something." "Damn. You should have kept trying." "Dude, we really don't have anything in common. I think she only likes black dudes." "That's cause those clubs you go to only play hip hop."
He had a point. But this town has no where else to go.
"You can't even dance. You wouldn't have wanted to be there anyway." "I can BELLY DANCE...."

The image of Bubba wiggling his butt in a grass skirt was overwhelmed by him grabbing a good 8 inches of flab on his stomach and flopping it around with a big grin on his face.
So later I'm fucking jamming. Office staff coming out telling me customers are calling in kissing my ass, and I'm up ten days on my schedule. My headphones are blasting. And I am happy. I'm dancing because Depeche Mode is on. Enjoy the Silence. Except Tom Smith is behind me. CEO of Food Lion, who has ordered lots of fancy things. And my boss.
Much yelling I ignore. I even ignore tapping on the shoulder, because, well, Bubba can kiss my ass....
AHEM! "Oh. Excuse me. Sir."
Goddamn I'm a stupid geek....