Half the Battle

#14 — More Than Meets the Eye!

Be care­ful!  Cobra oper­a­tives are mas­ters of dis­guise!

HTB #14 - More Than Meets the Eye Image

This and oth­er Half the Bat­tle comics can be seen (with added com­men­tary) on the HALF THE BATTLE page.

Now you know…

Half the Battle

#13 — Operation: Wet Breakfast

Why is Hawk in such a pis­sy mood?  Find out below!

HtB #13 - Operation: Wet Breakfast

This and oth­er Half the Bat­tle comics can be seen (with added com­men­tary) on the HALF THE BATTLE page.

Now you know…

After a long delay, here is is the next chap­ter in my true-life night­mar­ish work expe­ri­ence.  In this chap­ter, I deal with Sean Etin’s mon­ster of a 10 year-old son…

Danny Friedman is The Mexican

This is the actu­al pho­to­shopped pic­ture that my old co-work­er made when he heard about the expe­ri­ences in this chap­ter…

 

Startup Beatdown

Chapter 6: The Mexican

 

Of all the hor­ri­ble tasks I had to do at Seashel Pro­duc­tions, my least favorite, by far, was hav­ing to pick up and drop off Sean Etin’s kids.

Dur­ing any giv­en day, I would be asked to make runs in my car – to mail some­thing to the post office, or buy office sup­plies, or even to pick up a share­hold­er at the air­port – and usu­al­ly I didn’t mind. In fact, I would usu­al­ly jump at the chance to be paid while get­ting away from the office and what­ev­er tor­ture-induc­ing insan­i­ty that would be going on at any giv­en day. I even man­aged to not be screwed out of my car mileage costs by print­ing out an IRS form along with my expense report for how much mon­ey they legal­ly owe me per mile after the comp­trol­ler sug­gest­ed I should just fill up the car and give them the receipt.

There was some­thing dif­fer­ent about pick­ing up and drop­ping off the kids. For one thing, I couldn’t delude myself that what I was doing was for the good of the com­pa­ny. It was one thing to be a gofer for a face­less com­pa­ny (no mat­ter how evil), and it was quite anoth­er to be a chauf­fer for over-priv­i­leged chil­dren. The thin line between Sean Etin’s busi­ness and Sean Etin’s home life had been tram­pled over, and I was grabbed by the shirt col­lar and bum rushed over the oth­er side. The fact that it was so obvi­ous­ly not a part of my job descrip­tion (as it had noth­ing to do with the com­pa­ny) made me feel used. The fact that, dur­ing these car rides, I was essen­tial­ly work­ing under the eyes of chil­dren made me feel demeaned.

More of an issue was the fact that Sean Etin’s son, Gareth, was an insuf­fer­able, lit­tle shit­head. At ten years old, I could already tell that he was a chip off the old block. The kid was a cru­el-natured bul­ly who delight­ed in caus­ing pain in oth­ers. Unlike his father, whose cru­el per­sona was masked in a cru­sad­er-like, pugilis­tic sense of moral evan­ge­lism and para­noia, Gareth’s cru­el­ty was guile­less and pure. He was a bas­tard because he liked being a bas­tard. Caus­ing the great­est amount of dis­com­fort to those around him caused him gid­dy joy. There was noth­ing more to it than that. I despised him.

Read on after the jump or it can be found on the menu screen at the top of the page and right here.!

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