This has been the most bizarre week ever. Well, not EVER, but it’s definitely up there. Here’s the recipe:
Take an airplane landing from hell. Add in one mid-week “team bonding” drink drunk-fest (combine one 1/2 price wine night with a Great Create-A-Shot Contest). Mix well. Toss in a generous helping of hangover, and another installment of “The only job offer ever arranged by Instant Message”. Add in about 10 bottles of water and a Gatorade. You know, to re-hydrate.
Marinate the above in a gallon of Office Drama with a pinch of Big Boss Sets You Up to Throw Your Lead Under A Bus (you can find it in most senior management offices), but only after you throw in a whisper of Wanna Go to the UK Next Month? Refrigerate for long enough to miss your flight home.
Bake at 350 for five days in a three hour time difference. Voila! There you have it. The only job I know of that is a grown-up version (heh) of every [fond] memory I have of WAZZU.
I’m just sayin’.
My Allusion 