You may have previously read about how weird my 57-year-old boss is. He called me at 10:40 t0night:
Boss: Hey, L-Jazz, how are ya?
Me: What happened to L-Train?
Boss: I can try new names, I’m your boss. How are ya?
Me: Well, I’m working on it.
Boss: Well, I didn’t really have a direction for this conversation. James Spader? Does he help?
Me: No, he doesn’t help with death. I’m sorry I looked up James Spader at work, it’s just that–
Boss: No, L-Train, I get it. I look up that girl from that British show, I think it’s called Torchwood.
Me: Never seen it.
Boss: Are you drinking?
Me: Yes. Well, thanks for calling.
Boss: Good talk. Maybe we can skip work and get beers next week? You haven’t laughed in awhile.
Me: Beer would help.
Boss: Great, we can get the whole lab to go. See you next week. Now would be a good time to try writing that erotica like I told you. Sex sells.
Me: Dude, Dave, that’s still weird. Bye now.