Strike Me

As an employer, I am always facing the looming threat of unionization. Lurking in the shadows of my operation, I'm sure, is some organizer hoping to convert my wards to the cause of scientific socialism.

So I sat down with Lindsey and Fred (the part-timer) this morning, and I gave them a good talking to.

"Lindsey," I said, (I don't address Fred because he only works part-time. I expect him to pick it up from Lindsey). "I try to treat you with respect and dignity, and I've never asked you to have an abortion, right?" I made sure to note that Fred nodded too.

"So why would you need a union?"

Fred and Lindsey looked at each other quizzically. Then Lindsey said, "You look tired today." She always says that when I have bloodshot eyes and am reeking of alcohol. It is very diplomatic of her, don't you think.

"Yes," I said. "Couldn't sleep last night," I continued. I assume that we both know that I couldn't sleep because I was at a bar, but some things are better left unspoken.

"Couldn't sleep because you were at a bar," Lindsey said.

Here is where I would have preferred to negotiate with her steward. "Don't you have some duties or something?" I queried.

Lindsey rolled her eyes and strolled away casually. I was left with Fred. "What are you looking at?" I demanded.

"When can I go to the bathroom?" Fred wondered aloud. No wonder all of the jobs are being shipped to India.