Golf Pro's Crisis

Hubby's looking for a job; I'm looking for a job. The entire world is looking for a job. While looking, while working, I'm obsessed with the multitude of Senate and House hearings and subcommittee hearings. I've learned a lot, enough to enrage me. Rage, however, doesn't result in employment potential. Oddly enough, when detailing my professional goals, wreaking vengeance on the architects of our global crisis most likely will result in no calls. Such a pity. I do spiteful so well.

Here in Crazy Land, we thrive on anxiety. Golf Pro, who is overpaid beyond belief, visits the accounting department, demanding to know what the future holds. He has a family, you know. None of the rest of us have any responsibilities. We'd all love to know what the future holds. Hello. There is great uncertainty in life, especially these days.

Now for a little background on Golf Pro. He came to work here about a year after I did. He was useless then and hasn't felt the need to branch out in the 15 or so years he's employed at Crazy Land. He was supposed to be a salesman, but he has yet to make one single sale...ever.

His value to the company, I believe, lies in the fact that his step-father is a minority shareholder in the company. Isn't that fabulous? That's exactly the kind of qualifications needed to get and keep a key position in any company. He's better paid than any of us, short of Mr. Moneybags (don't get me started) and the President. We hate him.

Without exception, we all hate him. He had a brief fling of "pal-ship" with Mr. Moneybags, but it didn't take long for Bags to figure out just how staggeringly lazy and incompetent the Pro is. Loathsome and he came dangerously close to fisticuffs several years ago. I harbor secret fantasies that it came to fruition. Though Pro is considerably younger, he is the Pillsbury Dough Boy and Loathsome could have kicked his pudgy butt in a matter of moments. Let me be absolutely clear here. Even after my five surgeries, three rounds of chemo and seven weeks of radiation in three years, even I could kick is ass. Right now.

Crazy Land. The fun never ends. Anyone have a voodoo doll? Office (and field) staff might be willing to contribute to a fund to get one.