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It's a quarter past seven, I enter the store; A beautiful morning, I dust mop the floor. I glance at the clock, seven thirty-five, And still I await for help to arrive! The first man's not here yet, it must have been Scott; I can't take it further, the jerk should be shot! I bleed the compressor, I clean up the bench; I stock all the weights and collect every wrench. At ten to the hour I roll out the racks, Sweep down the sidewalk and oil the jacks. By now I'm so angry, still no one is here; I polish my boot for the kick in the rear! Alone I have done it, the store is all set; It's time now to open, still nobody yet. As I walk by the counter I notice the date; I'm all set to open on SUNDAY at eight!
Wes Stephenson

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