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One time when I worked in a frame shop, there was this young lady I dreamt of making the acquaintance of. I was working away, and went to clean up a bad corner in a mat with a single-edge razor-blade. She walked in for some reason or other to do some thing or other, and I started chatting her up, and went to cut up the mat, and it wasn't until she left however many minutes later this was, that I noticed that I'd been holding the blade backwards and dug it right proper into the meat of my index finger. Fortunately the razor was new, so it cut me so clean and neat that I didn't bleed until after I'd realized why the cutting was going so roughly--meaning I didn't soil the mat.

Speaking of which, the Tiger was working a frame shop in the same chain but a different store, and the razor slipped out of the mat cutter, causing the cutting head to stop suddenly, and her hand to slip off and across the freshly-revealed blade. she had to get like three stitches in the side of her finger, and it was a quick cut for a customer who was waiting outside, and as she came out, dripping blood through her clenched fingers and apologizing for the fact that there would now be a delay in his work, the witless bastard asked her if she'd bled on his artwork. What a shitlick! There is a good reason I think, why chains won't let you work with a SO--I'd've pissed all over his precious artwork, just to remind him of the human factor in the whole thing. Ah, well.... that's just how people treat my Tiger. I can't understand why she hasn't let me kill anyone yet--I mean, I can understand why she won't let me assassinate her stepdad when he shits on her, and all that, but... some idiot dude? Her bosses? Why am I not allowed to educate them in the proper treatment of a good woman? Sometimes I wonder if I wasn't some mafioso in a past life--some of my solutions to personal problems have sounded suspiciously like something one of them would do.

So how stupid have you ever been on the job?

Once when I was temping for a Caterpillar plant, one of my fellow temps in the bay behind mine was talking with the rest of us, and his trainer told us to watch as he pulled something over on Tim (the temp). A forklift had just run over a little metal cap plug, dragging it a few feet across the floor. So Tim's trainer sez hey, I dropped my plug, run go get it 'fore they run it over. Tim, just as belovedly green as i rushed over and snatched it up--and made it halfway back before his hand got the message through that it was being blistered by the friction-heated metal. He dropped that fucker like a bad habit, howled, and started flailing his hand around, to the amusement of all the people around our bays. He did look kinda funny that way...

And on the subject of pranks, back in my long-lost frame shop, one of my subordinates (yes, dear readers, I was once in charge of other people! it's okay if you need a moment to calm down...)
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There... feeling better?

So. This guy that worked under me--not like that, you pervs! I was stretching a canvas onto a frame, and just as I pulled the trigger on the air-stapler, he yelped and slapped the side of his neck. Which might have gotten him a mildly amused look, if I hadn't noticed in the nanosecond before his noise that no staple had gone into the frame. Freaked me out totally. I thought I'd shot him in the neck with a staple. Believe in God, Joe Lieberman, Ronald McDonald, Fate, whatever, just you have to believe in something because of those little things that pop up so frequently--like the idea to try a new trick at the same time the stapler misfires.

But then again, I'm just a monkey who thinks he's possessed by retarded demons...

November 2012

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