I arrived yesterday to find our construction manager in a rage.
He: "I'm gonna fucking kill [the owner of the company]. He cleaned out the fridge and threw out my fucking margarine! It was almost new, and it's much lower in fat than that shit he buys!"
Me: "What the hell? Tell him to get his ass to Publix and buy you a new tub!"
He: "I know! And that shit he buys has [I forget how many he said] grams of fat in ONE SERVING!"
Me: [Now trying not to laugh at the towering indignation about being forced to consume extra fat grams on his morning toast] "And look at the date on the one he KEPT! It is past its expiration date, but he threw yours away? He totally owes you."
He: "You fucking got that right." [stomps off grumbling]
He did indeed give the owner of the company an earful about throwing out his nearly new and practically full fucking tub of margarine, so he didn't have any to put on his FUCKING TOAST when he arrived before everyone else this morning, because he always does, because he's always the first one in the fucking office! And why the fuck did you fucking keep the one that EXPIRED?
They went back and forth on the virtues of their favorite brands of margarine for a few minutes, sprinkled with dozens of F-bombs, both totally enjoying the domestic drama, but the facts were clear - the one the boss kept had expired on Sunday. I have ruled - he owes the construction manager a fucking tub of margarine.
And I'm listening to this from my office, smiling. Such is life in a very small company of crazy characters. I swear I'm going to get one of those little niceEshop 4 Digit Manual Hand Tally Mechanical Palm Click Counterclickers and when I hear exchanges like this, I will click every time somebody screams the word "fuck". I'll wear it out in a week.