Jamie Cullum who?

So after a few good days of Dan and I laughing at Jamie Cullum, I finally have to return to work (for a full day). Now, it should be explained that a week ago tomorrow we had a big attendance required meeting (Just once I'd like to see what happens when they don't specificaly say attendance required. Or, rather, hear about what happens 'cause no flippin' way will I be there). A major point of this meeting was to emphasize our new manager's Nazi-like approach to being on time. We're allowed to be ~7 minutes late unless otherwise stated ahead of time. Okay, so maybe a 7 minute window isn't the most Naziesque approach, but after three times we get fired. And that's the part that sucks. And yet this morning I stroll in at my leisurely 7:30 (with a 7:00 start time) and think nothing of it. I think just as much that Jamie Cullum is like a 10-year-old on stage, jumping around with no real intention of entertaining us so much as himself, I'm like that 10-year-old that hears his 200 pound dad frustratingly say "Johnny Stephen McHairdo! Do that one more time and I'll spank you 'till your heart bleeds!", and instead of stopping like any normal human with even the most meager sense of logic, I immediatly do it not just once, but repeatedly as fast as I can until my dad does, indeed, cause my heart to bleed by smacking my rear. Or until I, like Jamie, get bored and move on to something else. Why else would I continue to come in late on every single shift, not finish my car registration, and skip class incessantly?
Oh, and I still haven't bought a new tire. It's like I'm daring it to blow out. When it does it will probably throw my car into opposing traffic. If I were my tire, I would do the same. I love my tire.
In conclusion, Jamie Cullum is too hyper for his own good. Pot calling the kettle African-American.