SF

We switched over to new uniforms this week--blue long-sleeved shirts (provided by Jackie) and black pants (self-provided). So today Rob was wearing black jeans and his trademark thong sandals, and Jackie told him he had to stop wearing the sandals and get new pants (slacks, not jeans). But when I showed up wearing the correct shirt, shoes, and slacks, she just looked at me plaintively and said, "Where's your name tag?" (My reply: "Where's your soul? Same place, probably. IN HELL") Steve was standing right next to me the whole time wearing black jeans and no name tag and she didn't say one word to him. That seems like selective favoritism, or SF, to me.
The only time I enjoy SF is when it works in my favor. Like the other night when I didn't do the bucket check and Peter made a mistake (he was probably so busy thinking about ugly girls shaking their booties that he didn't notice) that the check would have revealed. The whole thing led to Steve and Ashley getting yelled at by Jackie the next morning. When I found out I called her and asked her what was going on, but she just started talking about how Target was having a sale on women's black pants in case I was interested, and that was the end of it. In summation, Goldie-centric SF good, anti-Goldie SF, bad.
I suppose I should be more understanding about my boss and her SF. I mean, she probably just needs a friend. The afterlife can be lonely sometimes, what with everyone you meet making the sign of the cross and spraying you with holy water whilst running away. Or she could simply be bored; she doesn't have any hobbies or goals (other than anything murder-related) and she hasn't really accomplished anything in life other than the time she invented those weird purple pills that make people swell up like that one girl in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. That way there's more meat on them bones. Yum yum.