We spend money like it might suddenly rot. At the Tyson's Corners mall, my tired mind alternated between "What an orgy of consumerism!" and "This bird flu will certainly kill us all."
I was sure the index case was lurking around somewhere. At least the new car and flat panel t.v. will keep us numb until we die, raving feverishly and shitting out our own intestines. Also, she got a lovely cashmere sweater.

About an hour ago, my boss' boss walked in and informed me that the new office at DCA would need parts. Imagine that. An aircraft maintenance facility might need to stock aircraft parts. He also informed me that he didn't know what parts to get, or how to get them there, or how to account for the inventory. (That darn F.A.A. is so picky about aircraft parts and their whereabouts.) He decidied that at 0300, I should drop what I was doing and get him a nice, well-planned inventory in a tidy box for this station that opens Wednesday. I don't want to whine, but everyone has known that we were opening a station for six months now. Additionally, at least three people are on the totem pole above me, and jobs like this are squarely in their purview. They are specifically not in mine. So fuck them in the ass with a pointed stick.
(I'll probably do it, but I'd better get another fat raise.)