Floyd Barber, Motivational Warehouse Supervisor
What in the name of holy handpuppets are you trying to get away with this time son? Do you think that I’m daft to your turd tones? Don’t try to be wise with me, guano guru. You’re already half-way up shit mountain without a guide, so if I were you, I’d make camp and then plot your desecent while you still have a job.
What am I talking about?
I can see you out in the parking lot, slacking up a storm like there’s no tomorrow. It’s bad enough that you’re squeezing three extra minutes out of every coffee break, but I don’t want you using that company time to harass the coffee girl. You got it?
You already know that she sees through your thick fog of bullshit. And I doubt that those pick-up lines would work on a hooker–even if you were carrying cash and her rent was a week overdue. But the thing is, I don’t want you to piss off the woman who brings me my ham salad everyday. The last thing I want is to have some pissed-off sandwich maker wiping their backside with my bread slices just because some warehouse weasel was hitting on the hired help.
I’m going to issue you a warning this time, because I’d rather not look like a schmuck in front of the darling who delivers our donuts. But you’d better keep your smart-tongue silent, because if that coffee truck skips us next time, my boot will be taking an express trip to Yourassville.
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