Wednesday this week was not a good day. Everything which could go wrong, as the saying goes, did go wrong. Consequently I wasn't in the mood for intellectual lightweights.
So of course one called. I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name.
The conversation began easily enough. "Can I come in tomorrow morning and buy some cables, Cosgriff?"
"Sure. We open at 9."
"So what's a good time to come in?" Cloyce then asked.
In exasperation, my head dropped to my chest; my eyes closed. I took a deep breath. "Anytime after 9 is fine, Cloyce."
He persisted, "So what time, Cosgriff?"
"Ten Thirty-Two and Fifty Four seconds," I mouthed off, off the top of my head and into the cell, perturbed.
"What time?"
"10:32:54."
"Oh. So tomorrow morning about Noon?"
I wanted to hit my own head with a mallet. Several times. "Yes. Noon is fine," I answered, gritting my teeth.
He better get there.
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