My Father (by The Bwaz)

My father knocks on my door to tell me that he is going to return the Metabolol to the company he bought it from no matter what the cost. Do you mind?? Can I please get ready in peace? I walk out of my room to his yelling about how what the Metabolol company did is the same thing that Pablo Escobar did with drug trafficking. Huh?!?!? I stop listening. I offer to take his Metabolol to my work, call the company, get his money back, and then ship the product. He tells me “No, the last thing I want is to be without the money AND the product.” That’s funny, I could have sworn that returning defective products WAS MY JOB. I do it every day, but, no Dad, you’re right, I wouldn’t know how to do it correctly. I then hear him make a comment about how he has put the box of Metabolol in front of the door to remind him the mistake he made by ordering over the internet. He tells me I can’t move it no matter what. I think nothing of it. I’m getting ready to leave, walk to the front door and, sure enough, there’s a box about 3 feet high and 1 foot wide sitting RIGHT SMACK DAB in front of the door. I simply walk around the box and head off to work where, once again, I’m gonna be late.