Just been waiting for a tube at Liverpool Street station. On the platform there is a small butty bar. The girl serving was blowing her nose into the smallest tissue possible, finished, inspected it and folded the tissue. Then started moving the butties about using the tongs at least, until one sandwich proved a little difficult to position so she used her snot laiden hands. I didn't see what the contents of the butty was, but if you see one with some green slime on it, you have been warned.
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Rule Number 1 - Assuming that you have a valid contract in place always try to get your poo onto your timesheet, provided that the timesheet is valid for your current contract and covers the period of time that you are billing for.
I preferred version 1! -
Likewise a cake shop near Waterloo station. I was gazing in the window at the cakes contemplating buying something for the team as a treat, when the tart behind the counter idly picked her nose, extracted something of definite nutritional value (and apparently rich in chlorophyll), and then started re-arranging the iced sweetmeats on the counter.
Retching, I walked on.
I arrived at the office and told the story to the team Asok (he was far too competent to be referred to as 'Bob') and left him giggling like a pre-puberty schoolboy for the rest of the day when I advised him "So never accept a piece of cake with any Kiwi fruit on it".
Two days later, the highly respected team guru came in and announced it was his 40th birthday and that he had brought in a cake.
"Not from the shop by Waterloo station?" asked Asok, smiling and winking at me.
"Yes," said the guru, proudly. "How did you know?"
Asok's face fell: "Just a lucky guess".
But when the box was opened and the cake removed, Asok and I had to leave the room at a run. Asok was giggling uncontrollably and I was on the verge of spoiling my light grey trousers.
I was a Kiwi fruit flan.
My all-time favourite Dilbert cartoon, this is: BTW, a Dumpster is a brand of skip, I think.
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