I think I have to kill my boss ... or Please bathe me in Lysol

So, yesterday Boss calls in to the office to tell me he won't be in because he's sick and has a fever. To this, I reply, "Okay. Please stay there. Oh, and hope you get better soon."

I'm fully expectant he won't be in today either. But what do my wondering eyes see? Boss comes in waving a piece of paper around in the air saying, "I'm done." What? "I'm done." I also note he's in jeans and a sweatshirt. Coupled with the "I'm done" statement, I am now thinking I am going to have a new boss because he has been summarily let go. Has he been laid off? Not possible in this business. Fired? He hasn't screwed anything up, to my knowledge. Quit? It's definitely a possibility, but I think I would have some advanced notice of that was going down. Little did I know exactly how nefarious that statement would be to me.

When asked for clarification on the "I'm done" statement, Boss reveals he most likely has SWINE FLU.

* Image from here

Is he nuts? Does he know what he has done? I only have so much hand sanitizer on my desk. I certainly don't have enough to baste my entire being with, much less wipe down every surface in our shared space. I have no Lysol on hand, either. What to do? Why is he here? He said he had to locate some paperwork. ACCCKK! Boss could have called me. I would gladly have looked for said paperwork and left it out somewhere for him ... like in his parking space. Then, I know I wouldn't have to possibly come into contact with piggy germs that are probably right now gathering into formation in the air duct above my head. I can hear their little microbial feet marching, the leader calling cadence just waiting for the attck signal.

Why? Why me? I was just sitting here, minding my own business and WHAM! I am subjected to a dastardly communicable disease for which I have not been immunized because I am not a member of a "high-risk" group. Yay for me. I shall now sit here and look up schematics for a hyperbaric chamber to seal myself off from the rest of the world, 'cause if I don't get the H1N1 out of this, no one else is getting the chance to infect me.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to Sam's to find the largest can of disenfectant I can find ...

I think I'd have to kill this kid ... and give the dog a bone

Scootie Made Me An International Trafficker (ALLEGEDLY)

Scootie decided he wanted to go to Chick-fil-A for a free sandwich and asked me if I wanted anything. I wasn't feeling the chicken thing, so I picked something else in close proximity. Unfortunately, due to my not wanting a piece of chicken with two pickles, Scootie has now made me part of what could end up being an international narcotics-trafficking, money-laundering ring. Even though we had a whole conversation about this very subject before he left.

Me:  It's really a shame that La Parilla has the best cheese dip.

Scootie: Why?

M (and Marv):  Because they're criminals. (We tell the whole story, then...) I guess if you use cash, it would be okay.

Did he use cash? I think you can figure the answer. He said I never told him SPECIFICALLY to GO GET cash to use. So now the Secret Service is going to be knocking on my door.  Is there a good side to this? If I can blame me not having any money on this and demand my 50 MILLION DOLLARS be returned, yes.