The Hater & the D-Bag

I don't like the word hate. I don't like what it means. But once in a while everyone is a little bit of a hater. Right now, that's me.

I'm in a weird position in which the scientists I work for also work for me. And one of these scientists is the ULTIMATE D-BAG. And I hate him. Not kinda sorta. But like totally, man. I H-A-T-E him. He makes my job miserable, which sucks, because I love my job. And that makes me hate him even more.

Last week, he was 3 hours & 48 minutes late in getting me what I needed to do my job in order to make him money. Let me tell you, my level of haterism hit an all time high.

This week, he comes in with a $180 spa gift certificate for me to make up for last week. So on the surface I have to be all nice and grateful to him. On the inside, I'm boiling thinking this makes him an even bigger d-bag. Who spends $180 on a massage? Do you realize that amount of money would feed me for six weeks? What's wrong with a thank you card? How does (a ridiculous) amount of money count as an apology?

I hate that I'm a haterrr.