"How's Business?": A Mid-morning Rant

As I was taking off my headphones this morning, after enjoying a very sensual DJ Kaos Love the Night Away remix, some elderly business douche asked me in the elevator “How’s business?”

“How’s Business?”

I’m sorry, what? To what the fuck are you referring? How does it look like I think business is? My hair is wet, I am wearing headphones and I still have a crease on my face from my bedsheets. How’s business? I have no fucking reference point for this conversation. Unless of course it’s your not-so-subtle attack on my not-ready-for-prime time business attire. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I don’t look like Bette Midler in Big Business. Sorry I am not wearing a shell-pink Anne Taylor suit and spectator pumps. But I can’t. Because 48 hours after I put on a shell-pink Anne Taylor Loft suit I will be found in my Aurora, Illinois hotel room, dead from suicide.

Sorry I’m wearing vintage running shoes with giant black Lily Tomlin “I’m on Broadway” pants. Not my first choice either. But we work with what we have. I currently make 41,500 American lady dollars a year and frankly that appears to be enough for iced coffee, bagels, the ownership of karabuller.com and frightfully little else.

How’s business?

How the fuck do you think business is? Ask yourself before you ask others. He better check himself before he wrecks himself. How’s business.