How to Tell if you're Freaking Tired At Work

Here's a sign that by the end of the week, with five consecutive nights of six or fewer hours of sleep (due to staying up late to feed Quinn and then get up early the next day for work), the mind isn't at its usual peak of sharpness.

Today there was company at The Store: the current patriarch of the family whom The Store is named visited, along with (I think) his wife and a couple of district managers. At one point during the visit, our own district manager turned and specifically greeted me by name, which impressed me immensely because this was, as far as I can recall, the first time the man has ever addressed me at all. (Not that he's mean or aloof or anything; I'm just one face in a very large organization.)

So when I went to one of the other store managers and had the following conversation:

ME: Wow, the DM just greeted me by name! I had no idea that he even knew who I was.

MANAGER DUDE: You're wearing a nametag.

(beat)

ME: Oh. Well that explains that, then.

Shortly thereafter I went to the coffee bar and had a frozen cappucino drink with a double shot of espresso. Because, you know, you can't be too careful.