Tag: work

Wash Your Hands

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The sign on the bathroom door says: All employees must wash their hands before returning to work.
Lefty McGinty just looks at the sign, clacks his hooks together, and goes back to his desk.
He writes up memoes using speech recognition software, you know.
Talks into a microphone and the words appear on the screen.
He’s got a special mouse for doing edits and that kind of stuff. He’s gotten really good with those hooks.
But I keep thinking of him in the bathroom. Those hooks. And his… his…
Scary stuff.
I guess he’s gotten really good with those hooks.

The Memo

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Everybody who reads the secret memo dies.
So, it’s been filed away…
deep in the archives…
locked in a filing cabinet…
which is locked in a closet…
which is in a locked room…
accessible only by locked stairs…
and the door to the stairs is locked, too.
But I have the keys on this keyring.
Let’s see…
To the door.
To the stairs.
To the door.
To the room.
To the closet.
To the cabinet.
Here. Take this keyring.
If you don’t believe me, see for yourself.
Read the memo.
Oh, and when you do, can I have your stapler?

Yorick

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The old jester imagined that he would be telling jokes in court to laughing royalty, screwing maids in the barn, and dining on the best of what the castle’s kitchen had to offer.
Instead, he had a mouth full of mud and his back ached from the weight of the young prince.
“Horsey!’ shouted Hamlet.
Yorick groaned with each kick to his ribs.
At first, it was a delight. But with each passing week of being a plaything, Yorick grew weary.
Yorick never did get the laughter, maids, or feasts.
He died a broken man, a feast for the worms.

Icing

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Elroy bakes the best cakes in the city.
People would pay dearly for these works of art.
I once had the privilege to watch him in action… although it was hard to keep up with the blur of kitchen implements and cloud of ingredients whizzing around him.
What was most impressive was his mastery of icing cakes.
He showed me a bare cake, told me to try to eat it.
So, I put a fork in the side of it, and as I drew the fork to my mouth, that bit of cake was perfectly iced.
A magician, he was.

Best Ideas

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I get my very best ideas in the bathroom.
You too?
Yeah.
So, I like to keep a notepad in there.
But today, I totally forgot a pen.
No, I wasn’t going to write anything using something… gross. Ewwwwww.
I tried to repeat my great idea over and over so I wouldn’t forget.
But Nardo came into the room, meowing for attention, so I pet him.
By the time I was done in there, I had forgotten my idea.
So, I put a box of pens in a drawer in the bathroom, took 5 Ex-Lax, hoping for inspiration to return.

Put Em On The Glass

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Arnold requested that they put his name on the door to his office, but the office manager kept declining it.
So, he’d write his name in dry-erase marker on the glass door.
The janitor would come by after hours and wipe the glass clean.
This went on for years. Other employees got their names on their doors, but even when Arnold got promoted up the ranks, he never did.
Finally, Arnold outranked the office manager and demanded to know why his requests were declined.
“What the hell do you expect with a last name like Shitfucker?” said the office manager.

Punisher

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The Mystic Sisters have a good racket going.
One’s a punisher for hire, taking clients down into her dungeon and beating them within an inch of their lives.
A few days later, they see the fortune-teller sister, the one who read bruises instead of palms.
Sometimes, guys go into the dungeon but don’t go to the fortune-teller. Other times, they see the fortune-teller, but they got their bruises elsewhere.
And then, well, one day, the punisher limps into her sister’s house. She’s got two black eyes.
“Save the bullshit and just get me some ice,” she says.

Way With Words

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Felix’s novels were a War Crime against Literature. So, for these crimes, he was banished to the circle of despised Literary Critics.
He didn’t just have a way with words – he had his way with words. In the worst possible way, in the back of his unmarked white van.
When he was done with them, he’d send his article to the publisher and leave the bloody, sweaty, shivering words on a playground for the children to discover.
His headstone will be blank. No words would associate with this monster, and no numbers are brave enough to cross the picket lines.

Assembly

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I like to walk through the drive through lane at the bank and ask for a loan for a car.
Usually, I get a laugh, but one day – that pneumatic tube machine wheezes and PLOMP! It lands on the hopper.
I open it up, and there”s a set of car keys.
I pull the keys out and hit the Call button – “Very funny,” I said. “What should I do with these?”
PLOMP! Another tube shows up. There”s an instruction booklet in there for assembling a car.
PLOMP! Some spark plugs.
PLOMP! A fanbelt.
PLOMP! PLOMP! PLOMP!
This could get messy.

Exchange

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I’m a part of a teachers exchange program.
These poor kids, living under brutal military occupation, right?
Boy, was I wrong.
One day, a gunman ran into the classroom and yelled something.
The kids happily ran to the door and windows, making a human wall.
Soldiers just saw the kids and passed by.
Later, the gunman was telling stories of making bombs and blowing up schools.
The kids were cheering, saying when they grew up, they wanted to be a like him.
What horrifies me the most is: what is the teacher back at my old school teaching my class?