Dance Monkey Dance

I’m sitting on the ground waiting for my shuttle to work, eating my PB&J and trying to ignore the cackling hens around me. When the shuttle arrives, I greet my favorite driver and take my seat. Before we even start moving, I start feeling a crawling sensation in a few places. I start sweeping at the spots only to realize that they are ants. And not just a few ants. They were all over me. I started slapping at them and yelled, “Son of a bitch, I’ve got ants” (an imitation of my father as he was getting mugged on the Moscow subway). The ladies laughed and laughed until they turned their attention to the next piece of sleaze in the Post. I was still finding ants on me at work. I classify this as reason #132 that I will never be a CEO.