Mr. Shit-Sandwich

I worked for an dirty old man in an insurance office a couple of years ago. By dirty, I mean he wore the same clothes everyday, had dandruff stuck to his forehead, eyebrows and eyelashes and the nastiest breath of any human dead or alive. I'm small in stature, so I have the privilege of smelling a lot of breath. Lucky me.

I was employed by Mr. Shit-Sandwich for approximately 5 months (he fired me because I corrected his grammar in a letter that he had written). My desk was right outside of his office, and everyday around 3pm his nasty ass breath would waft out into my work area. Some days it would hang like a fog over the entire back hallway where we sat. If I could describe the smell, I would say it was a combination of horseshit and rust. I tried to be sympathetic to "his stomach issues" or "rotten teeth" or whatever was the cause of his shit breath, but it got to the point where I could no longer be polite about it. I would yell things like, "Wow! Did a sewer line bust? What the fuck?" or "You should bottle that shit and use it on the enemy!"

The firing came as a blessing. And as luck would have it, he fired me over the phone. Thank god! I spent the next six months unemployed in cold ass New York City, listening to Snow Patrol and crying every day. Sweet - give it up for self worth defined by a shit job!! I'm American!