It's like I'm almost a real boy.

With all the drama lately regarding the ubiquitous Google and various sex blogs such as ErosBlog, Tiny Nibbles, and Pretty Dumb Things there's been a lot of band-width and anguish chewing up the bandwidth. Prodigious heaps of anguish liberally spiced with indignation and vexation in most cases. While there's no way I would claim to operate in the same circles those authors mingle in, I'm no celebrity after all, I dare say there is a slight commonality in subject matter.

I had never attempted to Google my own blog. I have no idea if the recent issues had any effect upon this blog, perchance throwing my link deep into the obscurity of being several pages beyond the first, although I'm not sure many drift in from such a venue anyway since to the best of my knowledge, my readership is far from legion. So imagine my surprise when in a moment of whim, I finally did plug the name of my modest little venture into the search engine, to discover that wonder of wonders, I'm the first entry. It may not be much, but I'm listed, I'm here to be found for those who choose to look.

This pleases me in a quietly silly way.

Beyond that, I am spending a few choice moments frothing in inchoate rage on the interior side of my public visage.

One of the perils of having a boss that is actually a personable and nice guy is that they have friends. When I use that particular term, it is with a measure of reluctance. Consider it a more politic euphemism for "free-loading self-entitled leech."

However much my boss may enjoy their company and whatever they may do for my boss, they are rarely less than a spectacular pain in my ass. It is irritating in the least to have people swagger into my place of business throwing the owner's name around and demanding all sorts of freebies. The owner can run this place any way he desires, ownership does indeed have its perks and quite simply, with the amount of latitude I am afforded I'm loathe to trifle with the hand that signs my paycheque. It is one thing when I get a call, email, or other such notification that one of the entourage is expected to drop by along with instructions for their disposition. It is quite another to be roundly extorted to call my boss on their behalf when I am unresponsive to their assertions that they were told they could have some allotment of merchandise gratis.

Like bloody hell am I going to let stock just wander out the door in their pockets. Like bloody hell am I going to just accept their claims it's all OK. And let me tell you, I get real tetchy about bothering my boss without a compelling reason. A burst sewer line for example. Some blustering lard-ball brimming with anecdotes proving his tightness with my boss does not qualify.

Lastly, these individuals play merry havoc upon tracking inventory when they do have the green-light. The owner seems to keep mental track of what is given away or heavily discounted, but that doesn't mean I have any clue or that something might be forgotten weeks later. As a rule, anything that complicates my book-keeping is a headache and as such needs to be hunted down and exterminated with extreme prejudice.