Nails Broken: 1
Loogies Hocked: 1
Earnest Volunteers (not including myself): 5
Wayward Shoppers: 3
Diet Cokes Imbibed: 2
Average Warehouse Temperature: 85 degress Fahrenheit

Another day at the warehouse. Three people were convinced that we were open today. I was convinced that the men's shoes needed to be organized, the vault needed to be cleansed of personal items, the registers needed to be cleaned and checked, the purses needed to be hung on displays, as did the scarves, the kids' clothes needed to be hung up, and the mens' pants needed to be organized by size. Oh yes, and let's not forget the signs.

PC words bother me. The latest one is signage. This is dumb-talk for the signs needed for a specific purpose. It's like closure, although I always felt bad about not liking that one because my favorite teacher used it a lot. You can stick your signage . . . over there, away from me.

Being in the warehouse did bring slight relief from my head cold. I muddled about outside wondering how the hell I was going to clean this up, make it secure, and pull this off. Running around, moving messes from point A to point B really sweated out the congestion. This week we have two TV show appearances and a need for speed, in pill form. I'll be at work Tuesday until 10 PM. The tent arrives Friday, when my head of security will come check out our set up. The toilets should show up some time around then and the drinks from Coke should arrive Wednesday.

This might be the single w/u without discussion of relationships with the opposite sex -- whoops . . .