Floyd Barber, Motivational Warehouse Supervisor
God damn-it boy, are you trying to make yourself sick? Even a grunt with your limited intelligence should know better than to try and make a meal out of the Floor-Dry.
That shit ain’t edible son. I don’t even think it’s good for the floor!
What are you trying to do? Are you looking for extra sick-time? Are you bucking for a Section 8? Well this isn’t Korea son, and your excuses ain’t going to hold water. They ain’t even going to absorb it.
You must think I’m some sort of modern-day Colonel Klink, and this warehouse is your prisoner of war playground. Well, this commandant isn’t going to put up with your bullshitten.
I don’t know what you were thinking. Is this another one of your lame attempts to get even with me for suspending you when you threw up on the Regional Manager? Well, your bullshit stories won’t wash, and if they did you still wouldn’t be able to get the stains out.
You know, you’re this close to being canned, and I’m not talking in the dolphin-friendly sense. I’ve had enough of your crap. One more stunt like this, and I’ll be issuing you a one-way ticket to Unemploymentville, and there won’t be any meals served on that train other than a whole lot of whine and cheese. If our relationship were a game of chess, it would be Boot to Ass-four, checkmate.
Oh, don’t think I won’t do it. I’m on to your little games mister. I’ve seen it all before. You’re just one more piece of shit in the outdoor latrine of my career. I know you think I’m as slow as the postal service, but I’m wise to your antics.
From now on, I want you to keep your nose clean, your head clear, and for Christ’s sake, keep that shit out of your mouth. You got it?
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