Be careful with those damn words.

How do you do business? Do you conduct business? Do you propose it, transact it, or merely process it? Around here we make a big fucking cake out of it, lick the frosting off, kick the sponge into crumbs, and scatter those to the wind. Then we sell the stained cardboard from underneath and exclaim "Cake! Profit!"

No, we're not that delerious and stupid. There have been moments, though, when I question our clarity of thought and dedication to expansion. How will we ever become rich and conquer the world if we can't even collect our due?

I just discovered a job we did last October that we never billed. Fourteen grand. Once again I feel important. Fists were pumped in my general direction by departing coworkers last Friday. Hooray for me.

I started here as a field installer. Monkey see, monkey plug wire and balance on the ladder. Work evaporated and they took pity and made me a telephone tech under neon buzz. Monkey hear, monkey repeat with ever-increasing volume and pitch to the lowly braindead restaurant manager.

I sensed that I was expendable and hanging from wet bubblegum stretching to break. So I asked for keys to the accounting software and declared an audit. To my amazement they only blinked once and gladly handed me the needed information. Remember, I am a high school dropout, not an accountant on the lam from better dressed employment.

I went through three years worth of records to see who had failed to pay their bills. I organized these delinquent establishments by owner's name and started placing them on credit hold. I was hot shit. I was coming buckets when I looked in the mirror. I made desperate fry cooks blubber and whimper and call their owners. Nobody would get help from me until my boss was cackling over a hastily signed check that had been overnighted to his clutching grubby paws.

Then they cancelled my little poaching expedition and sent the lot of them into collection. Why threaten a hash brown munching cola slurping degenerate when you can assault a burger magnate's credit rating?

This made me sad. My petty authority had evaporated. I was relegated back to moping peon status. I shredded my project and nibbled on Necco wafers as I awaited the ring of the phone.

Then, lo! One of my bosses was fired, and another promoted. (Yes, and I still have three bosses. I get whiplash frequently. And you wonder why I drink?) They promoted me. I am now in charge of Stuff with a capital S. I order it, I sell it, climb on it and roll around in it like a retarded child with too many cookies and no supervision. I like my job.

Even when I get cardboard burns. 9:25 AM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm