I find myself suddenly in a state of exhaustion. I thought about planting 4 azaleas that I bought a few days ago. Actually, it was more of an obsession the whole time I was as work. While driving home, I designed and redesigned the layout repeatedly. Then I got home.

As I sat in my chair to have a snack before changing clothes to go work (which never happened), it suddenly felt as if my battery suddenly discharged. Every ounce of intensity departed. I became the human equivalent of a paperweight whose duties had suddenly morphed into an object, the chief duty of which, was to demonstrate Newton's First Law: A body at rest tends to remain at rest. Gravity has become insurmountable, and I remain as I began. In the chair.

It occurs to me that what I am experiencing is much like a discharge of power. Or, perhaps, it is more likely a rapid decompression. I break down its origin to the simplest concept:

Hi. My name is Murphy J, and I am a professional punching bag.

My job requires that I spend the vast majority of my time on defense. Customers all want parts and services for free. Hell, I get it...the economy sucks right now for a lot of people. But, I have guys that depend on what I do for a living, namely the technicians in the shop. Much like the food server asking if you want something from the bar, or asking if you would like to see the dessert menu, it is my job to ask customers to spend extra money on their vehicle service. My brand (just like any other) has recommendations at mileage or time intervals that will help keep your car running as it is designed. My job is to remind you of these, and where it make sense, to purchase these services. The customer, on the other hand, has been conditioned to believe that I am just there to take their very last dollar, and I am accused of myriad crimes against humanity for the mere suggestion.

The words that make a service advisor's posterior orifice pucker with sufficient force as to split an atom are, "well since y'all worked on my car..." We get blamed for all manner of things that are purely coincidental and seldom related to the work we performed. "Well since y'all worked on my car (we changed the oil), my damn radio quit working." And somehow, I'm expected to placate this idiot and cave to the demand which is unrelated to anything we did. Ugghhh. Doesn't matter that all I did was punch the keys that created the repair order. I never turned a wrench or drained a fluid. I am the bad guy because I am the face of the dealership. No ma'am, we're not going to fix your radio for free, so I'll be looking forward to my appointment with the General Manager because of the 1 star review you're going to write about me in 2 part harmony, addressing my propensity toward fondling kittens. Thanks.

There are those customers, too, who are absolutely delightful. They make the sun shine on a rainy day. Sadly, there are too few of them, and they are shouted down by the masses of jackasses who just want something for nothing, and I'm to blame when they do not get it.

Just finished six straight days of this crap. I am bruised and battered. But, come Monday, I'll hitch myself back up and prepare for the onslaught. Ring the bell. The next round is about to start.

I'm Murphy J. And I'm a professional punching bag. How can I help you today?