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Dear Husband Hello dear husband, she said, never looking back. Could you come over here and take that down from the shelf for me? She pointed to a bottle of bleach on a high shelf. It wasn't his fault that George had just gone out to the hardware store, telling Jim, his teenage helper from down the street, that he'd be back in an hour, maybe two. Why don't you straighten up the workbench in the basement? he'd told the boy.

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Bad day. ‘Bad day’ didn’t even begin to encompass the events of Jim’s Friday afternoon. As well-paid upper-level manager of a huge accounting firm, he had to depend on a lot of different people to get a job done; the office was a finely-tuned machine. But when someone didn’t do their job, everything broke down. Luckily, Jim’s managerial style kept this from happening very often.

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