November 2, 2011 at 11:11 am (Cussed Dumbers)

Dr T should know better.

I have a reputation for being a bit of a smartass at work. (Ya think?) Some bosses get it, some don’t. (Ahem Grinder cough cough cough, Uncle Cliffy…) Dr T gets my metaphysical references, knows more words than Noah Webster, and can count in Loch Ness Monsters. He once described me as 88% puckish. Apparently my picture is next to the word in his dictionary.

But every now and then I sneak one by him…

Master P attends a lot of downtown retail association meetings, and cooperates with the Oregon Liquor Control Commission in every way. On Halloween night, he came down from the office and went to the beer cooler. He selected an assortment of beers we will no longer be able to sell if OLCC rules regarding westside sales go into effect. One 12-oz bottle from each six-pack. Since we are not allowed to sell single beers, the broken six-packs cannot be sold. He put them behind the counter, so we could replace the missing beers after the meeting and put them back on sale.

Looking at that spread of beer on the floor, I wondered what Dr T would think when he came in? Would I be so inattentive as to be shoplifted five times? My evil twin began pondering a scenario…

I took a long piece of register tape and the XL Sharpie marker. I wrote, “Bum-rushed by a gang of midgets. Was too busy laughing to catch them.” I then drew my best impression of the Notre Dame mascot running away with a beer. I put it atop the beer and forgot about it.

When I returned the next morning, I saw the pile of oddly-packed beers ready to return to the distributor. Hmm.

“Did you like my note?” I asked Dr T.

“Grumble grumble grumble.”

“I am particularly proud of my artist’s rendering of a beer-running midget.”

“Grumble grumble grumble.”

“What? You don’t like my midget?”

He smirked. “I’d have liked your midget better if I hadn’t prepped all that beer to be returned. I thought you really had been bum-rushed by midgets. I felt tall as a midget when the boss came back with the missing beers…”

“OOPSIE. Sor-ry. That’ll teach you to think and be efficient at 5:45 in the morning.”

“Grumble grumble grumble.” Then he smiled. “I did get a laugh, picturing you chasing midgets like Lawrence Taylor chasing a chicken.”

Dr T is not the vengeful type, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I have two Loch Ness Monsters’ worth of pennies to count when I get to work today…

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