5/25/05a

12:43 p.m. Hummer calls to let me know he's at his case for the day. I try joking around with him a bit before jumping down his throat. When I finally tell him he needs to call and run it by me when he breaks off early he says in a snotty and condescending tone, "Oh, well I guess it's back to being micro-managed." Deep cleansing breath...Deep cleansing breath... "That's right!" I say. "And you will remain micro-managed until I can trust you're not going to get picked up everytime you go out on a case." Curse words. All of them! "And another thing..." I go on to tell him all of the things he did wrong in his last report. And that it was late. And that I don't care if his last supervisor was a slacker (never mind that his last supervisor, Stinky Jimmy from one of my earlier posts, is now MY boss) because now he's MY investigator and if I don't like his work I'll stop assigning him cases.

I hang up. I can feel the muscles in my neck tense. I lean back against the tree I'm under and wonder to myself what Hummer looks like. I imagine a giant, hairy, whining baby wearing a diaper and shaking a rattle. I smile. No wonder he keeps getting picked up by Subjects...