My Boss Strikes Again

His timing is impeccable.

Photo by Ivan Lapyrin on Unsplash

Number of months ago that my boss was told we need a new furnace at the office: 8.

Number of times I reminded him: 3.

Amount of money he spent on his recent European vacation instead of replacing the furnace: $30,000.

Number of times the furnace died: 1.

Time of death: Today.

First it apparently caught on fire and emitted a hideous, acrid, burning plastic smell that probably gave me brain cancer, and then it died.

Hershey and I retreated to the nursing home which, despite the Covid outbreak, still seems safer than my office right now.

That’s where I got the text from my boss about the demise of the furnace and how I should BRING SPACE HEATERS ASAP.

Uh, sorry, no. Busy watching my mom die, you self-centered POS.

By the way — I told you so.

I replied, “Open all of the taps, slight stream. Will prevent pipes from freezing.” I thought this was common knowledge, but apparently not.

I replied, “Go to Walmart and buy space heaters.” Again, duh.

He wants me to bring my personal space heaters (“or your mom’s?”) to the office.