How DARE They!

So another perk, about working with the spouse. He can go to conferences and take the one laptop that controls all the printing functions. You want a receipt? NO. How about an invoice? NO. Maybe I can print you a statement? Absolutely NOT.

Note that not being able to print customer receipts means that I have to produce handwritten receipts for those who demand a receipt for a yellow craft fluff that costs all of 39 cents. This also means that for a brief, yet intensely painful few seconds, my hands will have to come out of my pockets. Imagine being in a meat locker warmly bundled in a minus 30 degree sleeping bag. Now imagine having to leap naked out of the aforementioned sleeping bag and prance about naked around the meat locker. Brings new meaning to Frosty the Snowman, doesn't it?

So now the anger originally directed at my husband for taking the wrong computer has turned its hateful gaze up Customer Craft Fluff. Now, I am ENRAGED because this obviously insane person is risking the circulation in my fingers for a craft fluff. A cotton ball in pale yellow for those unfamiliar with fluffs.

"You really need a receipt for that?" I remark caustically and point with my elbow (remember, my hands are in my pockets.
"Of course I do. I need to get reimbursed." For a 39 cent fluff? Who needs reimbursement for a fluff? If I could remove my hands and summon up the strength, I would wrestle her to the ground and hang her from the ceiling with crepe paper streamers (the warehouse is chock full of arts and crafts bits), but for now I must swallow the rage and write out a receipt, hands shivering from the cold, all for the good of the "Family Business."

Needless to say, if you notice the type going out of whack, it is merely the frostbite setting in.