Whoa whoa whoa, okay slow down.
I absolutely understand what you’re saying here Jeff. But tell me, what does this have to do with my chocolate chip muffin?
Jeff, you know I get to work 20 minutes early just so I can enjoy my muffin and start my day off right. I don’t even clock in, this is all on my time. Mine. I get my chocolate chip muffin every morning at Marge’s shop around the corner after I come in and set down my things. I come back, pour myself a coffee, and enjoy the New York Times Crossword until I have to start my day. Very simple stuff here.
This muffin is moist and delicious. The chocolate chips are homemade, Jeff. Goddamn homemade with her special blend of cocoa butter. This muffin is everything I’ve ever wanted. This ain’t some half-assed muffin, Jeff, this is baked fresh every morning. Whole milk, natural ingredients. I pay $3.75 for this shit.
You know the rules, Jeff. The only time I should be bothered with anything before I clock in should be to tell me a) the coffee machine is broken, b) Marge’s shop burned down, c) my wife and children are dead. Anything else can wait because if I don’t get to have my morning done right, I am a complete mess for the rest of the day. Remember June ’04, Jeff? Do you? Yeah, there were some problems that day. I’m going to let this one slide because I’m in a good mood and my muffin looks extra satisfying.
Virtually nothing is that important that you can’t handle it without me. That’s why you’re my number one guy around this place. I still have 14 minutes left before my shift. So here, let me give you the keys to the weapons locker. Get the tranq guns and hunt down those escaped mountain lions before they kill again.
And close the door behind you.