The Death Blog — Just When I Thought There Was Nothing Worse Than Suicide

This is the twentieth installment of The Death Blog.

(Mia Fairly, 7:22 pm, suicide)

Have I mentioned lately how much I hate, hate, HATE catching a DIY job?

When I see it pop on my schedule I groan and pinch the bridge of my nose.

Just my fucking luck.

On the night before I’m off for three whole days. I shouldn’t even be surprised. Managers in death are every bit as awful as the managers I had at fast food joints. Oh, you’re about to have some precious and hard earned time off? We’re definitely going to need you to drain and scrub down the fryers before you go. Oh, and also clean the walk-in.

I take a deep breath and scroll through the rest of my day and see he’s actually given me a pretty light load aside from the DIY. I check my temper, grab my keys, and tell myself I don’t even need to rationalize the coffee I’m about to go out and buy from whatever overpriced place is along my way.

Seventy-five minutes later I’m sitting at the Terminal Tower station with a coffee and a croissant from Savour in my hands, and a whole new approach to the day. My first cull was in the Tower Lobby so it worked out that I got to hit up Savour which isn’t something I get to do often.