Wednesday, January 18, 2006

I can't think of a title that won't get me into more trouble...

So, yesterday, I'm sitting at my desk at work, staring at the computer and not returning the 47 trillion emails that I should be returning when the front door opens and the scent of eau de bowling alley wafts in; I didn't bother to look up because I knew it was either someone who worked for us or someone who wanted to work for us.

"'S [Bossman] in?" he asks.

"Nope."

"Y'all doin' any hirin'?"

"It's a really slow time of the year for us, but you can fill out an application if you want," I offer, ever so helpfully. I turn around to get the application folder I have on the table behind my desk and when I turn back around, I realize that the guy only has one arm. Well, one and a half, to be exact and the half is right at my eye level and suddenly, I can't tear my eyes from it.

"I used to work here and I'm lookin' for some work..."

I still can't tear my eyes from his stump and I feel awful about it, but it's like a tractor beam.

Later I fond out from one of the project managers that he did, in fact, work for us many moons ago. "Ol Nubby can get it done," he confirms.

"Single-handedly?" I inquire.

He frowns at me. "That's mean."

"Because 'Nubby' is the name on his drivers' license, right?"