Not so long ago, I was bitching about this guy who was in my class group, the slacker whose paper I was typing. (For money, of course.) Why? Because he's a manipulative SOB, I can type, he knows I can type, I can edit like hell, I needed the money, and I wanted to laugh my ass off at him.
How much content can you get, in all seriousness, out of the mental game of golf?
But today I typed for him again. He always leaves things until the last minute, when he cannot possibly get them done. He spent last night writing the paper. I came in with my laptop this morning and just whipped the thing out -- the worst part was reading his handwriting. The best part was pointing out certain spelling and grammatical errors to Darkside. Slackerprep isn't getting the automatic grammar-scrub this time -- for one thing, this time he was crashed out asleep on a couch in the TV area because he'd been up all night; for another, because it was a rough draft; for a third, I wanted to see his face when I pointed out the things to him.
Darkside and I had extensive opportunity for laughter.
Slackerprep still thinks I'm awesome and cool and majorly nifty.
When he graduates and gets a job, he'd damn well treat his secretary like the treasure she is, or he is going to be so screwed.