Third Degree

We’ve been really busy at work. There’s a fair amount of stress right now and I’m as tightly wrapped as anyone.

I’m also fond of letting my inner five-year-old class clown out to play when the spontaneous opportunity presents itself.

Late this afternoon the guy from the parking garage valet comes in. My office is near the front so I get to see what he wants. He’s getting ready to leave for the day so he’s making his rounds, distributing keys back to those who left them earlier in the day and haven’t yet picked up their cars. He’s got a set of keys to give to Jenny.

We don’t have a Jenny.

He insists, says she gave our suite number as her destination. I go to double check, maybe someone’s here that I haven’t seen, a visitor of some sort? Nope, just a dozen or so of us in at the moment and none of us are a Jenny.

He insists.

Sorry, I don’t know what to tell him. We don’t have anyone named Jenny.

He says it’s the keys to a Lexus.

Cue the inner five-year-old class clown.

Wait – I’M JENNY! A Lexus you say? Yeah, that’s mine, I’ll take the keys. You seem skeptical. You need ID? Sure, I can give you my phone number. It’s 867-5309!!

*crickets*

No one got it? Not one person?

I prance down the hall in disbelief, calling everyone out of their office. It’s time for a confrontation. NO ONE got it?

At which point in the thundering silence, She-Who-Will-Remain-Nameless yells, “We GOT it, Paul! We can’t help it if no one thought it was funny!” The office explodes in laughter.

Thus it was that my inner five-year-old class clown slunk back down to my office looking for a 50-gallon drum of aloe vera to wallow in. That was a full-body, 3rd degree burn.

Well played, She-Who, well played.

2 Comments

Filed under Paul

2 responses to “Third Degree

  1. Sorry, Paul, you’ll have to explain it to me… if you feel the need.

    Liked by 1 person

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