GUEST STAR! Chris J: Little things post script

Another illusion-casualty of the District is the supposed community of co-workers. Like I've posted elsewhere, I work in the media. It's a disfunctional family, but a group of people who more-or-less approach the world the same way. So, when I went out to my beloved Jeep the other day and discovered a huge dent with cracked paint on the passenger's side door, I expected to find a note, or an e-mail about it.


This wasn't a morally ambiguous little dent like a nick or a scratch. This is a two-foot long crease on a black door, with white and silver in the center where the metal buckled. A co-worker did this to me. And didn't leave a note. So, somebody, possibly sitting in one of the nearby cubes, now owes me a couple of hundred bucks, or at least a free swipe at the groin with my nine-iron.

Oddly enough, something Homer Simpson said comes to mind--"I'd kill everyone in this room for a drop of sweet, sweet beer." Or something like that. It's a paraphrase.

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