Thank You, B.J.

Thank-you BJ...
Today, for the first time in my official career where I had to fire an employee that I hired, trained, coached, and mentored. I won't get into the whys or what fors but the brass taxes of it is he needed to be gone. My wife tends to feel bad for folks that I have to come down on for whatever reason, and though my standard answer is: "It's not personal. It's business." A part of me would rather not do it. I say all of this to say that last week, I was a little stressed. Today BJ (don't worry not his real name at all) made it so much easier for me. Was he a gracious firee?" you ask. Not quite. After showing up at 10:30 (he should have been there at 9:00) He was in and out by 10:45. At 10:53 I recieved the following text message: (don't worry. I bleeped it out to make it 'G' rated.)
I've always wanted 2 tell u that u were a dork, look act walk talk, u even playd in the band hahahahaha. U f*&%n p$^$&#.
Does that even make sense?
I am a pretty self-aware guy, and I will readily admit that I am not the definition of cool. No one has ever confused me with James Dean, or a cast member from One Tree Hill (though the fact that I know that show should at least give me some teenage girl cool points.) So, needless to say, this isn't the first time, nor will it be the last that I will be called a dork. He hit me right where it hurts to, in my Dinkles (don't worry, that's not a euphamism for anything. Dinkles are band shoes. If I didn't have to explain that to you, you might have been a band nerd.)
I guess now he can focus on his Air-Jordan-Comforter-Shrimp business. (I'm not making this up, the truth is too funny to make that up.)