"It's you, isn't it, Carr? Calling again on Thursday morning to tell me some messed up, BS story why you can't come to work. Well, listen. Save yourself the trouble of concocting another spine tingling tale, okay? Go play golf. Whack that little ball around until your face turns blue. It's your commission run coming up. You know, the short little list of your sales so far this month. The basis for your freakin' income."
"Rags," I say.
"Go ahead. Play golf. See if I give a rat's ass."
"I'm coming in. I have a big trade to make today. Half a million in corporate bonds."
"Really? That's great."
"No, I'm kidding. I'm playing golf with Mr. Vick."