Resp... Resputin? Respunzel? Resputnik?

Today I was asked if I was interested in a promotion.

As is so often the case, scripture seems to capture this moment perfectly: Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do. (Lk23:34)

Anyway, I said yes, although I'm not sure how a promotion would work out with my allergies, in particular my allergy to... you know, the R-word.

To clarify: this doesn't mean that I am, as of now, promoted, since I wasn't exactly offered a promotion. Rather, they are going to start showing me the hoops I'll need to jump through in order to get promoted (I get the impression there are many).

This sounds overly complicated, but I like to compare it to the Matrix. You know: "I can only show you the door. You're the one that has to walk through it."

Come to think of it, my work is like the Matrix in many ways. And I'm a lot like Neo. Except, instead of bullets, I dodge two-year olds trying to take out my knees with Ultraman action figures. Also, if I wore that rad coat Neo wears, I would melt.

P.S.: Blast from the past! It's good to hear from you again, man. I'll never forgive Boris for the way he dissed you.