Warning

Spycraft game tonight. Throwing the cops against a street-racing syndicate with organized crime ties. I have to work hard to keep this from veering into The Fast and the Furious territory.

I dig on my job, but some of the sales goons ... Sometimes I wonder if these people have handlers at home to make sure they get dressed in the morning. To establish some background, around 3 p.m., every day, I get the list of ads that have to go to press that night. I check our servers, and any rep with an ad that hasn't been turned in gets a phone call - quick, concise. Ad number, client, section. Bang bang bang, done. DW, who came to work for us back in November or December, just seems unable to learn. He had two ads out last night, so I make the call, leave a message on voice-mail, move on. A little after four, I'm going out into Indian Country to talk to another rep, when my dad calls. No big deal, I've got a minute, so I answer. Now, I'm on the phone, and DW is coming my way. There's a little alcove next to our division VP's office that is commonly accepted as the unofficial place to take a private call. I'm on the cell with Dad, clearly having a non-business private conversation, and DW is hovering over like a damn vulture, trying to tell me that he got my phone call (Well, hooray - I made the phone call), and is going to turn in the ad he's holding in his hand and is going to cancel the other ad and does he need to give the paperwork to me?

DW: "Andy, I'm going to ..."
Me: "Remember the last time you did that? And what I told you to do?"
DW: "Yes."
Me: "And you're not doing that why?"
DW: "Well, I thought ..."
Me: "No, I don't believe you did, or else you wouldn't be asking me again."

I swear, sometimes I think he commutes to work on the Lextran short bus.

And, in about 20 minutes, I have to start dealing with him again.