Like I may have to cut a fucking hole in the bottom of the Exploder and drive like Fred Fucking Flintstone because the clients are tipping on their fucking credit cards, which means I won't see it til the next fucking paycheck.
So, I'm pissed off.
The get togethers aren't for husband-shopping, Sugar. They're to get to know each other. It's a GREAT way to kill an evening that doesn't involve City Club.
Like I hope that I not only make it to work on the gas that I have, but that I have clients as well. If I don't, then I'm stuck there til Jeff brings me cash because I'm awesome.
And, like I hope that Jeff sees this, because I'm outta here....