Which old crap? The paper crap! Yay! We finished the last of the inserting this morning, just in time for a nasty shock.
They'd given us the wrong insert for J. C. Penney.
Son of a dirty rotten bowlegged trough-sucking slack-eyed scum-swilling stash weasel. I could go on, but you get the idea. After the briefest of heart failures, we concluded that all we had to do was include the correct insert along with the wrong one (which was only wrong because it's for two days later) and all would be well. Meltdown avoided.
This lovely surprise came right on the heels of another wonderful discovery. We found out what Himself is getting from his boss for Thanksgiving: laid off.
Couldn't we just have a turkey coupon?
The thing that really stinks is the fact that the boss is waiting until TONIGHT, when all employees are preparing to leave, to let them know that they are no longer gainfully employed. Happy Thanksgiving AND Christmas. Sheesh.
Himself is in luck in a small way. He's Union, and is being sent to the Big Boss for further instructions. The quarry is only part of the operation, so with any luck, we can still afford food and yarn, I mean, other necessities.
I'm going to go home and contemplate my alpaca roving while inhaling the last of the potato salad. That should get me in the mood for rehearsal this evening.