"I don't know. Ask Billabong," I heard my boss say as he motioned toward me. I looked down at my shirt. Yes it read "Billabong," but it was barely legible and only in my possession because it was fuchsia in nature, and only plastered across my boobs because it was goddamn casual moving day.
Was that some sort of snide remark? I wondered as I threw a handful of staples at some incompetent bastard. Yes, I decided, it was. As I resumed hauling 50-plus years of printed out emails to the next building over, I decided I'd wear my high-flying executive suit and stilettos tomorrow to do this. Yes, that seemed logical.