I didn’t have an update to my post on dealing with the picketers at work, because last Thursday, they decided to picket 30 area grocery stores that are owned by their parent company and broaden their sphere of annoyance. Friday I was golfing with some potential clients, so if they were there, I didn’t see ‘em.
Now they’re back in force. There were about 40 of them today, split between both driveways. To be honest, it was the last thing on my mind when I drove into work in my usual Monday morning zombie haze. There were six of them standing directly in the driveway when I pulled to a halt in front of a cluster of three bookish Asian types, who quickly skittered far out of the way, and I pulled past them and drove to the shipping entrance.
As I’m getting my briefcase out of my truck, I hear someone shout “Sir! Excuse me, sir?” and I turn around.
Oh no, they’ve sent the muscle.
The “muscle” is about 6’3″ of fucking pasty-white cookie dough in a sleeveless tank t-shirt. Now, what the fuck does this lumpy pile of goo want? I think, imagining how gross his gut rolls would feel, clammily embracing my fist as I drive it towards his spine.
“Umm, we’d just like to ask you to slow down when you’re coming down the driveway.”
“I did slow down. Everybody got out of the way just fine.”
“Yeah, well, we’d just like you to slow down, because, umm for safety.”
Oh, hell no. Now I’m getting pissed.
“You know what’s really unsafe? STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF A FUCKING DRIVEWAY.” I turn around and swipe my key fob over the electronic lock and open the door while this nerd tries to think of something witty or tough to save face.
“Well, it’s not safe, umm… getting arrested for running someone over!” I don’t think either of us knows what the fuck that meant, but I didn’t want him to think I was rude by ignoring him.
“PFFFFT! Fuck off!” I snort over my shoulder as I enter the building, now in a good mood and ready for work.
Fast-forward a couple of hours and now I see our IT chief and all-around physical plant manager heading for the door with copies of the building’s blueprints and some letters. He tells me our boss, who owns the building, located our property line and is notifying these union dicks to stay off of it. You see, we have a very lush campus – about 120-foot setback from the road, beautiful shade trees and cool, green grass, and he doesn’t want these motherfuckers enjoying any of it. These pukes are only allowed to be on public property. In front of our building, that means no more than one foot inside the sidewalk, which means not a lick of shade. And it’s back up over 100 degrees again today. That’s how The Man says “Fuck You.”
So, I see him again later, after he reports back to the boss, and the union sissies say that if we want to play hardball, then they can too, because somebody bumped into one of their picketers and they are going to press charges for assault!
“Really?” I ask him. “What did The Boss say to that?”
“He said, ‘It wasn’t Jeff that ran somebody over, was it?’”
You see what I have to put up with? No respect. As it turns out, they are waging a 2-week long vendetta against one of our other tenants, who is a lawyer at a fairly large plaintiff’s firm. He had been trying to leave and these idiots had put cones in the driveway, and no one was getting up out of the shade to move them. So he got out of his car and tossed a cone out of his way. As he was pulling out, these nerds chase after him, slapping and kicking his car. So he gets out and has a shouting match with these people.
It’s getting fucking ugly out there. Can’t wait for tomorrow. Because if they’re thinking they’re going to set up their fucking Ewok village on our lawn, now we get the cops involved. Too hot for popcorn, so I’m thinking I’ll be eating a nice sherbet or a parfait and watch these geeks shrivel up in direct sunlight.
P.S. Thank you all for your suggestions. I now have “Butcher’s Hook” by Slipknot queued up and ready to make some nerd eardrums bleed.