Slave

I've finaly worked out that mid-life crisis guy thinks my job is not to assist him but rather to run his life. I've figured this out because its painfully obvious that he has no idea how to run his life on his own. I had to remind him to do his banking this morning. Because he was in court all day and didn't have lunch and apparently was unable to walk into one of the 65 cafes between the court and work and buy himself one. Oh no, I had to call up the poor catering lady who is about 103 and a little wobbly on the legs and she had to go to one of the aforementioned cafes and buy him a damn sandwich. I also made his booking for dinner tonight and cancelled his booking for dinner on Saturday night. I'm here to type people. Seriously, I'm here to type. And file. I swear to God I'm this close to putting his profile up on an internet dating site. The guy needs a wife. Badly. Or at the very least, he could buy a slave. Oh hang on, technically I guess that's what I am. I should ask for a pay rise or emancipation.