In step number one for the inspection of the northern branch, I found myself putting gas in the truck. The little orange needle told me to. Who am I to challenge such authority?
Junior, of course was charged with removing the bird poop from the windshield with the squeegee provided at the pump.
As I pumped gas at a rate per gallon which seems to be an inconsistent sign of a thriving economy, I took the opportunity to point out that Junior had missed a spot or two.
“Geez Dad, you can’t see small font!”. He was right. “How can see bird poop on the windshield?”
Reaching back on years of experience and knowledge passed down from generations of Tharps before me, I responded. “Birds don’t poop in small font.”
Overall the inspection of the northern branch has gone better than expected. The compound is inexplicably missing face plates for its light switches though. I suspect the chinchillas stored away in there own bedroom with a boom box playing bad pop music (is there any other kind?) are behind the missing fixtures.
I’ll look to address the issue with the foreman in order to get to the bottom of this mystery.
In the meantime, a trip further north is on order with the goal of scouting out an added branch for the organization. As I sit here in one of many meetings designed to inform and enlighten me about the facilities available to the TharpSter organization, I can’t help but feel distracted by the fact that I really, really, have to pee.
More to come.
