Just got home from "work".
We cleaned the store to the point where it looks fit for an I.G. inspection.
All I know is when this corporate big wig arrives he damn well better be saying what he needs to say to me or I'm gonna be one pissed mudda f-er.
Trust me NO ONE wants to see me in "P' Oh'd Mudda F-er" mode.
Footnote:I owe a debt of gratitude to my mother and step-father (Michael Ratfink) [name has been changed to protect the guilty]; both of whom are U.S. Army retired and busted my chops every living day of my life yelling at me, beating me and forcing me to do chores every single day of my life (including my birthday), about how to *PROPERLY* clean according to U.S. Army standards. Tonight their fine handiwork translated itself into a store that is (in the words of my Region Coach) "hospital clean."
Mudda & Mr. Ratfink - thanks for bustin my chops! Ya done good after all.