Right now the shop smells like a combination latrine and abattoir (oh, THAT’S attRACtive) because I, like the fool I am, scheduled the grease trap cleaning during hours of operation. Katie took off to render care for her bff and I am here in a stench that usually precedes the advent of a horde of orcs, or perhaps several large trolls. Or I could say that it smells like what happens when Jeff leaps to his feet and says “Mr Toilet you’ve been very bad.”…. but that would just be wrong, because on the worst day he ever had he never smelled anything like this.
Ha ha, I asked Jeff to forward the instructions so mOm and pOp can watch us on the security cams. Isn’t that hilarious? At least we don’t have smellovision yet, because pOp would be bolting for the nearest door, eyes out on stalks, if he came anywhere near this unusual odour. peeeeeyou.
NEVER BOOK A GREASE TRAP CLEANING DURING OFFICE HOURS. HOLY F***STICKS. I’m as far as I can get from it, but I must needs be here until the bitter end because I must needs pay the man. All this to prevent the City of Burnaby from fining my ass for putting more than a certain ppm of fat down the drain.
