I call a staff meeting, and grab you by your shirt collar to stop you wandering off and ignoring the meeting. I look like I want to be at home, in bed, high as a kite. It's only 9:05 in the morning. "Alright, numbnuts, just listen up for a bloody minute, okay? I don't like you and you don't like me, but the sooner we do this shit, the sooner we can get back to doing sweet fuck-all. So, Wal-Mart Corporate sent their review in of the store yesterday after a Secret Shopper came in to evaluate us. The review showed that we scored only 'Unsatisfactory' in all eight criteria, the second to worst score above 'Poor'. You know what that means? We passed! You bunch of shit-for-brains actually passed evaluation! This is like, D-minus work we're doing here. I, for one, could not give a monkey's shithole what you bunch of twats get up to, so long as we keep making enough money so that Corporate stays off our tails. Hey, hey! Are you listening to me? Ugh, fuck this noise, I'm going to my office to get high. Fuck you, don't bother me. I hate this place," I make a bee-line for the office at the back of the store. I am openly rolling up a joint as I walk past customers. I don't even acknowledge them when I knock into them. I get into my office, and slump deeply into my big, swivelling armchair behind the Store Manager's desk. I'm the boss, I'll do what I want, so long as I can keep slacking off and scraping by on our margins each month. I kick back with a grunt and put my footpaws up on the desk, letting a sigh of relief blow out from my wide-open beak as I yawn lazily. I spark up my lighter, shaking the plastic device a few times, before it takes a flame. I light my joint, and take a long, drawn-out drag. I let my body spill over my seat, letting my stomach hang out over my trouser waistband. I scratch my feathers with one hand, smoke with the other hand. My big bird legs are scratching at one another, as I stay awake. "Ugh, no more Corporate reviews for six months, I can finally get back to not trying. Fucking Wal-Mart."