When I was "let go," restructured out of "The Vision," etc., I was given an agreement. I'd be paid through such and such a time, given my awarded bonus for the following year at an earlier time, considering I was being restructured out of The Vision, and all.
No such bonus came, of late.
I twiddled my thumbs; I checked and rechecked my account; I clucked my tongue each time at the un-fattened bank account that stared me in the face.
As Mama G and Brother Grice kept sending me emails aplenty, about how much fun our road trips are going to be, I kept refreshing that old bank account, wondering where it was. Those few pennies I was depending upon.
Finally, I just sent an email to the whoa-man who's supposed to be taking care of me, during these times. To think I'd almost just sat there doing nothing.
I almost didn't even send an email, for fear of sounding or coming off as too forward; had I not sent that email, so you could send me a gummy-faced, horrid response, telling me I'll get my due this week ... I'd had never received it.
I sent back a decent response, but one that was appropriately piqued, I'd say.
Brother G, we's gonna have a fine time out there tubing on the river and Mama G, New O'lens never looked so fine.