To quit a job in dramatic fashion. Named after the flight attendant who got fed up, stole two beers, and popped the emergency slide.
By the way, "hip lingo" is probably an oxymoron. You're on your own with that.
What I'm getting at is that I'm sick of work. Demanding clients. I'm jonesin' for some affirmation, and I ain't gettin' any. And I'm not kidding myself - everyone is replaceable. Even me. The question is pricing. And psychology, of course. I think I've been too accomodating. That's what I meant with my cryptic comment the other day about becoming scarcer. It worked with The Daddler, as evidenced by his incredible sweetness to me after my two blissful trips this summer.
As for the pricing, I think I'm a bargain. They pay their plumbers more per hour. And we won't even talk about their CPA firms. But if my clients don't think I'm worth what they pay me, they should follow my advice and shop it. Take a test drive. I'll do everything I can to help with the transition. And if they beg me to come back in three months, I'll entertain the idea. The key to good negotiating is being willing to walk away. When it comes to cars, payroll services, loans, insurance, et cetera, I'm good at it. With people, not so much. And my clients are people. Good, honest, quality people. People I want to help. So I subjugate my needs to theirs.
And that's why I told my girl Jo I can't go Salsa dancing tonight. That and the fact that I hate it.
But I miss her. She's precious. And the slide is looking better and better...
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