I won't ask what happened. . . .
Well, what happened!?
I'm with thingy.One of the (many) things i love about this blog is the ... respect ... it shows the reader when it says, "now it's your turn, you can do it -- you finish the play."So we've done that. My first thought was the cliche we've all been through (er, haven't we? I have) where you're out late with the boys, then realized it was too late to go home & sleep and still make it back to work, and so stayed up all night & then went in thinking no one would notice you'd been drinking all night and hadn't slept ... so I did that play, but then I remembered "you don't drink" & thought: Ah! Flat tire, he had a flat tire, and skinned his knuckles trying to get the freaking lug nuts off because we've all been through that (er, haven't we?), and I went through that.So now, after a suitable Paul Harvey elipses, I'm with thingy.What's the rest of the story, Mr, Mule? Please?
somehow, I never got notified that comments had been left here.I'm sorry.The rest of the story?There was no story. I showed up for work.Maybe a few minutes early.Just being myself.Apparently myself now elicits "I won't ask what happened."that can't be good. . . .
Thanks! Hope that guard is a kind-of friend of yours -- otherwise, he was what you'd call rude, what my old man used to call crusin' for a brusin'.
the guard meant it in a kindly waya condescending, amused kindly way. . . .
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