Smoking gun.

This morning I was on time for work in part because, for the first time in 2 weeks, I woke up on time (only pressing the snooze the allotted 5 times and then resetting the alarm only once to allow for 10 more minutes of shut eye).

I didn’t even need to speed that much; although this speed-limit adherence was compromised when I accidentally got behind a student driver on the on ramp.

Like molasses in January, this newbie slowly made his way towards the highway, allowing for adequate reaction times should any turtles or small legless animals attempt to cross the road in front of his vehicle.

Now I am at the office where I just got a call from Flower Power. A new relationship is in the mix for the lovely lass and she wants to go to lunch to discuss and analyze. Sounds great to me! Of course I am excited to hear the dish, but moreover, I am always anxious for an excuse to get out of this cubicle.

Just the other day I took two “smoke breaks” with one of my coworker friends. Since I am definitely not a smoker, I basically just go for the fresh air and conversation.

At my company, smokers are viewed as social pariah and are only allowed to smoke in a very small area surrounding this large generator behind the building. They all stand around talking about nothing in particular while desperately attempting to get their nicotine fix. Come to think of it, with all that second hand smoke, I guess I can’t really justify it as getting fresh air, but at least I am outside and I like to think I am making up for all those detentionless-years in elementary, middle, high school and all the years following that.

(http://www.webwombat.com.au/entertainment/humour/Grumpy_Old_Coot/pixs_smokers.htm)