We had today off from work on account of it being a market holiday. I think our company likes their customers to think we're answering calls on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange, and they feel shutting down the call center when the market closes maintains this illusion.

Gerald and I had a fairly uneventful day drinking beer and watching Animal Planet. After the weekend, we needed a day to decompress.

That box really scratched the hell out of our floors, but Gerald said the landlord might understand if we told him the situation. I agreed with him, only because I wanted to see him explain how the marks on our floor were caused by a haunted box we stole out of the back of someone's car.

After telling him that, I got that feeling you get after feeding peanut butter to a dog.