Why I come to work

Aside from the obvious not wanting to live in my car reasons, conversations like this are what keep my job from being so dull I want to Super Glue myself to something just to see how people would handle a glue crisis:

Guy who has been working here for 27 years, but just decided he needed to accessorize:  You’re a young professional, what do you keep business cards in?
Me: (snickering at his obvious delusions)  My cards or cards I receive from others?
Guy: From others.
Me:  Under my stuffed mouse, Mortimer (reaching to lift Mortimer from his perch to expose the large pile of business cards).
Guy: Of course you do.  Where do you keep your cards?
Me:  In my desk.  I don’t like to give them out, they have my real identity on them.  I prefer to steal cards from other people and give those out instead.  Cuts down on email traffic.
Guy:  Why do I keep asking you questions thinking I’ll get a reasonable answer?
Me:  Because you have a head injury that caused anterograde amnesia  like Drew Barrymore’s character in 50 First Dates?
Guy:  Yeah.  That’s probably it.  Want a tangerine?  Bob has some on his desk.
Me:  Sure.  I hear scurvy’s a bitch.

[Exit, stage left.  While mumbling about stuffed mice and big metal chickens]

Side note, I don’t have a bloody clue who Bob is, but his tangerines are delightful.

Mortimer, earning his keep:

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2 Responses to Why I come to work

  1. lovemylabs says:

    I just moved the business cards I get from other people under my Winnie the Pooh pencil holder just so that when asked, I can respond “I keep them under pooh.”

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