I got a...royal flush?

I started work this morning bright and early with a belly-full of Nyquil and carrot cake. I've been endlessly amused at work recently. The doctors are involved in a superexciting doctor war, concerning a smelly, horrendously stained old couch that one doctor insists he needs in order to perform his optometric duties. We moved our office a couple of weeks ago - we now have half the space and no storage, so every last unused square foot is fucking precious. Desperate for a place to lay down, take his shoes off and alternately watch Dr. Phil/ play his handheld Yahtzee! game, he carried the filthy couch in question into the store Friday morning by himself - bowed under the weight of the large communities of raccoon babies and cockroach families that must be residing within that thing. Seeing as how this particular doctor and I don't really care for each other [the other day he cut me off mid-sentence with a loud, nasal 'YOU'RE ANNOYING' for absolutely no reason], I have taken this as an excellent time to point out his flaws [read: tattle] to the doctor who owns the practice.

I can't wipe the smile off my face.