Late-for-Work Excuse - 3/16

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RE: Late-for-Work Excuse - 3/16

Postby kpick759 » Tue Mar 30, 2010 8:04 am

As I run into the office, sweat is pouring down my face and my clothes are sticking to me in places that are obviously wet from the rain outside. I hurry over to my manager’s office and bust into his door.

“Excuse me, Steve. But I have to talk to you.” I look him dead in the eye and begin pulling at the sodden clothing plastered to my underwear.

“What the heck happened to you?” He says with a slight smirk on his face.

“Well, I was on my way to work. And after I opened the garage door, there was a woman standing there with a clip board and she was checking off things on the page. She was wearing a long raincoat, big brimmed hat covered in plastic like some state troopers wear. I noticed a dark van parked in front of the house. She looked up at me and said “Is this the Addington family’s address?”

Well of course I was a little curious being so early in the morning and all. She looked official and went into her pocket to pull out a badge. “I am agent Shelton with home land security. We have as a response from neighbors that you are suspected of terriorist activities.”

“You must have the wrong address. I am not a terrorist!”

“We have the right to enter your home and search for material that might prove your activities. Please step aside, sir.” Her hand waved me to the left. Before I could say anything, she waved to the van and four men jumped out dressed in dark overalls, with caps carrying garbage bags and clipboards.

“Hey wait a minute, l am not a terrorist, you can’t just come into my house and search. Where is your warrant?” I said.

“Under the Homeland Security Act, we have the right to remove any items that could be interpreted as a national threat.” The guys entered my house through the garage and I could hear rattling, doors slamming and general movement inside.

“You can’t do this, this is America, I have rights. I am going to call my lawyer.” I reached for my cell phone and she walked closer to me, grabbed the phone out of my hands and said “I will take this for evidence. We will review all your phone calls, text and numbers for possible collaborators. Do you have any illegal weapons or money that I should know about?”

I my temper was escalating. I said “Of course not, all my weapons are in the house and registered.”
She spoke into a walkie talkie “Forget the weapons they are all registered.”

Then turning back to me she said “Sir, I am going to handcuff you now to avoid any trouble from you. Plus, this will make it easier for us to complete this job. “ She quickly pulled my arm back and slapped handcuffs on me. After handcuffing me, she shoved me into the back seat of my car. The guys were leaving out of the house with bags full of my items and my laptop.

I began screaming, “You can’t do this to me, I’m not a criminal!! I want my lawyer!” She said “Give me the number to your lawyer, I will dial it for you.” Of course I had no lawyer, so I was quiet trying to think of someone I could call to get help.

Then she said , “I am going to do you a favor. I will drive you to the police department, since we will probably be putting you up on charges.”

After slamming the door, she grabbed the keys from the roof of the car and I heard her walkie talkie say
“Everything is secure, we are on our way.”

The van pulled off, and she drove me to the police department. Once we arrived, she double parked and got out. The rain was so heavy, I could barely see which way she went. After about ten minutes an officer knocked on the window.

“He buddy you can’t park here!”

That is when I found out from the police lieutenant, it was a ring of thieves in the area and they had committed this crime to several other residents.

I’m really sorry to be late boss. But I got robbed!!”

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Re: Late-for-Work Excuse - 3/16

Postby TonyCollier » Thu Apr 01, 2010 8:06 pm

The man was trying to hide it, but I can tell he was furious. He had this vein on his forehead that was bulging like crazy. So I overslept, big deal. I couldn't understand why he would be so upset over something that small.

I had just the thing for him. I was sure my boss would get a chuckle out of this excuse, so I told him just like this, "I was on my way home from the bar, in my little hooptie. Minding my own, when I saw this guy in a brand spankin new Mustang GT. I've always wanted a sports car like that. So I thinks to myself, 'Why can't I have that car right there? I waited till the man parked his car and went inside a fancy little restaurant. That's when I ditched my old beater and stole the cool whip."

The moment I said that, my boss' face changed. I could tell he was impressed. I said to him, "Hold on, I'm not done yet. I took that Mustang and drove it like a bandit all over town. I even picked up my girl Betty Sue and showed her the back seat, if ya know what I mean, eh!"

He probably knew what I meant.

So then I tell him, "By the night's end, I was dog tired and I needed to get some rest. The problem is, my appartment was on the other side of town and I didn't feel like driving that far. That's when I saw this big ol' house and thought to myself, 'I'll bet there's a bed in there.' So I parked the car up a tree and climbed into the house through one of the windows upstairs. I had a smoke and went to bed, the next thing I know, there were people outside yelling like crazy. I thought for sure they were having a party because they were all shouting, 'The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire!' I couldn't sleep with all that noise. So I left that place and went home, I don't remember how I got there, but I did."

By this time, the boss isn't angry anymore. So then I said, "I take it you liked my story."

The boss answered, "I did actually. That was quite informative and entertaining. Oh, and by the way, I had to sleep outside and take the cab to work thanks to you."

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RE: Late-for-Work Excuse - 3/16

Postby J Scot Lee » Fri Apr 02, 2010 4:20 am

Late for Work


J. Scot Lee


Mr. Finnegan is like most bosses.  He keeps his cool until things go beyond his realm of reason.  Even then, I’ve never seen him really angry.  Aggravated but not really angry.  Sure, he gets peeved when a cluster of Feeblebops land in the southwest unannounced.  He’s especially irked at an agent being late for a shift due to oversleeping, but that’s expected from a man who governs the clueless on matters of Universal Security.  In this missing section of government, Mr. Finnegan has seen and heard it all. 

I’m Tommy, and I have a story about the time I overslept and got a promotion for doing so.

My morning started like any other.  Alarm clock buzzing, me hitting the snooze a few times.  I finally got up and headed to the shower.  Like I said, nothing out of the ordinary.  I got dressed and made my way to the coffee pot and that’s when it hit me.  I’m still asleep in my bed.  I mean, there I am, pouring me a cup when I glanced into my bedroom and someone is still asleep in my bed.  I gathered my thoughts of the night before and cannot remember bringing anyone home with me.  It had been years since I had a date so I would definitely remember if I had brought someone home with me.  I tiptoed next to the bed and almost crapped my pants.  There I was, sleeping like a little baby.  What the...  I leaned in and pinched me, not me, but the me asleep in my bed.  My upper arm on the standing me ached like I had been pinched.  Go figure.

Crap.  I’m not dreaming.  There is a me asleep in my bed while the standing me is pinching the sleeping me.  I know that if I don’t get to work, Mr. Finnegan is gonna chew me a new hole to poop from.  I jump up on the bed and begin bouncing like a second grader, doing anything to wake me up.  That is when I notice the mirror.  I see the bed bouncing up and down, but no me jumping.  Just me sleeping and bouncing unbothered by the motion.

Crap.  I’m dead.  I read about out of body experiences and the paranormal in training for my job with the Universal Security Agency.  We are kind like the Men in Black minus the Will Smith coolness.  We are geek do-gooders that protect the unknowing world from things unknown.  Now, I’m living proof, or dead proof, that the unknown is exactly that.  We never know what can happen.  We just train for the unknown.  I know, I know, I still don’t quite get it either.

I am now obviously late for work.  I grab the phone and dial the office.

“Universal Security.  If it ain’t, we’re on it.  How can I help you?”

“Tina.  It’s Tommy.  Is Mr. Finnegan in yet?”

“Tommy.  Hey sweetie.  Yes, he’s here and looking for you.  Want me to patch you through?”


I always liked our on-hold music.  Lamb of God, Pantera, even some old Ozzy every now and then.  Almost immediately, the phone picked up.

“Universal Security.  Finnegan speaking.”

“Mr. Finnegan, this is Tommy.  I am calling...”

“TOMMY!  Where the hell are you?  We got a situation down here and I need all hands on deck.”

“I understand, Mr. Finnegan.  I am running a little late, but there’s something else.  I am asleep in my bed and...”

“Well, get your ass up and get in here.  I need every....”

“You don’t get it, sir.  I am awake and standing in my kitchen while I, or something that looks like me is asleep in my bed.  And sir, I can’t see my reflection in the mirror.  I remember from training that....”

“Oh jeez.  Tina!  Hold all my calls.  It’s is worse than I thought.  I need everyone to Tommy’s house ASAP!  Tommy, listen to me.  Forget everything you learned in training.  None of that matters now.  I need you to gather up a few items until we get there.  You got a frozen ham?”

“Uh...maybe.  I think so.  But sir...”

“Good.  We’ll need the ham, a wire brush, a bottle of bleach, and some Lysol.  It’s gonna stink.  You with me, Tommy?”

“Yes, sir.  Except the bleach.  I’m out.”

“Sure thing, Tommy.  We’ll get it on the way.  Stay asleep and awake.  We’ll be there shortly.

I gathered up what I had.  Frozen ham slices, a BBQ grill brush, and some FeBreeze.  Minutes later I heard movement in the bedroom.

OH NO!!  I was waking up.  I ran in and hit the play button on the stereo.  Metallica’s Ride the Lightning starts playing.  I always listen to that album to put me to sleep.  It seemed to be working when my colleagues arrived.

Mr. Finnegan took control of the situation.  He explained the plan and we began.  And man, did it stink.  Holy Christ!  It smelled worse than all the dead people in the world taking a massive poop at once.

After all was said and done, Mr. Finnegan took me aside in the bathroom while washing our feet in the tub.

“Tommy.  Great job in there, son.  We knew something like that was bound to happen.  Thing is, we just never knew it would happen so close.  Who’d have thought, right?”  he said, laughing out loud.

“Right.  Who’d have thought it,” I said, agreeing but still unsure of what the hell just happened and how I was gonna get that smell out of my bedroom.

“Couldn’t have happened to a better guy, Tommy.  I’m making you second in command, right under me.  You up for that, Tommy?” he asked slapping me on the back.  I burped ham.  Yuck.  I hate ham now for some reason.

“Yes, Mr. Finnegan.  I will do my best.”

So there you have it.  I’m gonna have to cut this short.  We just got a call that more Feeblebops we’re seen by our agents entering global airspace.  I gotta go make sure we have plenty of toothpaste for the job.  Take care.

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RE: Late-for-Work Excuse - 3/16

Postby jbsrruns » Thu Apr 08, 2010 8:16 am

Just like the prompt, I'm late with this entry...but please enjoy and feel free to send constructive feedback my way...thank you!

It is disheartening to finally see the light and adopt the advice of a boss who has demonstrated nothing but restraint with your propensity to sleep late. As much patience as he practiced listening to stories about sleeps’ positive effect on my health and productivity, not to mention the theory of variable biological clocks, he finally counseled me about leading an organization with several hundred employees and the effect of people coming and going as they please.

I finally followed his advice and set my alarm at its loudest setting and place it outside my bedroom window, far enough away that I couldn’t reach it except by walking through the house, out the front door and down the walkway to turn it off. By that time it was easier to stop in the kitchen for bowl of cereal and detour into the bathroom to get a shower before returning to the bedroom to get dressed for work.

It was the first time I arrived early for work, an hour early! I proudly pulled into the empty parking lot chuckling mischievously when I pulled into the space reserved for the big cheese. But the disappeared when I reached to open the door and found it locked. Poop!

I had an hour to kill so I drove to the Morning Basket Case, my favorite coffee and bagel shop. While the cute waitress prepared a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich I read the morning sports page and sipped an Americana, almost feeling I could get used to the new morning routine…Not!

After polishing off the sandwich and completing a healthy stretch I visited the restroom. As I walked from drying my hands the heal of my shoe found the lone, wet soapy spot on the floor sending my feet toward the ceiling and my head to the terracotta floor with such a smash I saw more stars than exist in the galaxy. Woozy, I glanced at a small crowd peering down but and all I could do, instinctively, was look at my watch and screamed…7:15! Though it was only a five minute drive to the office I wanted to be at my desk before the beginning of the shift with a few minutes to spare.

Disheveled, I jumped up to the look of startled spectators and ran for the door. Crossing the parking lot fishing for the car keys in my pocket I came up empty. Pooooop! I did a u-turn and ran back into coffee house full of spectators watching as if it were the last minute of a hockey game with the home team down a goal and the goalie pulled. An elderly gentleman opened the door of the restroom with a set of keys in his hand, looked at me curiously and said, “Do these belong to you?” I screamed, “Thank you!”, and ran back out to my car. The smell of rubber filled the parking lot as I pulled onto Sunrise Boulevard.

A survey of the parking lot revealed nothing but car roofs so I pulled back onto the street, parked haphazardly and jumped out hitting the lock button on the remote as I ran for the office looking at my watch. 7:26. I can still make it. I opened the door and went for my badge. Pooooooop! Back in the car I grabbed the badge from the console and returned to the office, opened the door, flashed it at the security guard and ran up the back steps only to find the door locked from the inside, so ran back down the stairs rode the elevator to the third floor.

When the elevator door opened the first thing I saw was the clock across the office which read 7:33. I made my entrance through a haze, hair disheveled, blood matting the back, sweating like I just ran a marathon, shirt tail out on the left. I collapsed into my chair and breathed a deep sigh of relief just to be off my feet.

Unaware my boss witnessed my grand entrance; he walked over and said, “Congratulation Jim, you made it on time”. I looked at the clock and he said, “Oh, that thing is a few minutes fast”. Then he continued, “But if getting here on time means you’re going to arrive looking like you were attacked in the alley by a bunch of thugs please take a few more minutes, it’s not worth your health and safety”. I just looked up and smiled. If he only knew.

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RE: Late-for-Work Excuse - 3/16

Postby joeybrah » Sun Apr 11, 2010 4:41 pm

"JOE. IN HERE. NOW!" I jumped when Mr. Crobwell, my boss, scowled at me.

"Ss-ii-rrr-r." I responded, and thought how much of a coward I sounded that I studdered. I only studder when I am scared and he knows that.

"Oh stop studdering you incompetent worker! You cannot even come to work on time! What did you do? OVERSLEEP?" His face got as red as a cherry when he reached the word "oversleep".

I smiled, nervously, and thought. I thought hard, What would make him be so stunned that he laughed and forgot about the whole thing? I twiddled my thumbs, and the thought shot into my mind. Perfect.

"Well, sir, you see.. I, uh, had to give a 3-hour-long bath to my hairless cat that pukes up hairballs with no explanation. It's quite sad, really.. she's only 14 months old with no hair and always getting hair INSIDE her stomach, not OUTSIDE her body. You know? Ever had that experience?" I blurted.

"Actually," I cut him off before he could continue, "ACTUALLY, he technically has hair.. well, if you count the only hair that grows on his skin to be in the form of a mohawk, then he isn't hairless. But, his bath requires special details. The shampoo I use is a shampoo made in French-Guiana; therefore, it takes atleast fourty five minutes to actually get the amount of shampoo needed out of the bottle.

"After that, I grab a washcloth and make it all shampoo-ey, moisturizing Mr. Fluffles's skin. Now, I know what you're thinking. Actually, two things: Why shampoo with no hair; and, the name Mr. Fluffles for a hairless cat?"

A chuckle passed through his bright red lips.

"Well, back to the point, Mr. Fluffles's nerves are always very high, and today was the 1-year-anniversary of his sisters's death. His sister loved the shampoo I use on him, so I used it to keep his nerves down and make him sleep better; therefore, I can come to work on time and get my job done without telling you such an obsurdly true story."

He leaned back in his big black chair and spoke three words: "Back to work."

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RE: Late-for-Work Excuse - 3/16

Postby Differential Harmony » Tue May 11, 2010 7:43 pm


Man I hate mornings! I just want to reach over and shut this stupid. . .poop unicorns and rainbows! Why does my alarm clock say 10:30? I set it for 7:30! As in three hours ago and now I won't be able to eat my waffles and poop unicorns and rainbows!! Dr. Jing hates hates hates oversleepers! Just because he grew up in Japan where everybody believed in hard work and listened to their superiors all the time. Some of us grew up in America. Good, solid, lazy, welfare-paying, labor-restricting, 8-hour work day, cushy-break, anything-can-become-a-lawsuit America! And he is already mad at me for that whole sleeping with his brother out of spite thing. Hmmm what can I do?!

I have an idea! I will call Joel. He owes me for covering for him with his parents for forgetting to pick up his brother from school thing. And I am going to need duct tape, rope, a water hose, copius amounts of pressurized water, and I'll borrow Julian's car (she owes me for her weed still anyway), and I am going to need a map of the Potoquicky River . . . This is going to be great! Dr.-I'poop unicorns and rainbows is going to loveee this!

(1 hour and 45 minutes later)
"Dr. Jing!!! I am so sorry I am late! And I have never seen you looking so. . . angry. I can explain!! Bring her in boys!"

"What the hell is this?"

"Well sir, you said you have been looking for a new test subject for weeks now and thinking about how to expand your research to include a, well a . . . different, kind of area. So I was thinking, and I decided to go out last night and expand our research! Though it was a little more difficult than I originally had planned, and I couldn't collect all the data myself without our specialized equipment, but it was already dead! So I called in my boys here this morning, but it took so long to find it again and load it into my friends Explorer, and. . . "

"You were late because you brought me a otter"

"A male river otter, yes sir."

"Take the rest of the day off Ms. Dunkman. You must be tired."

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Re: Late-for-Work Excuse - 3/16

Postby neener86 » Thu May 13, 2010 1:36 pm

The one about dealing with Gradma's Alzheimers? Brilliant. Very well done.

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RE: Late-for-Work Excuse - 3/16

Postby hwhittle » Fri May 14, 2010 12:18 am

I awoke at the usual time – 4:30 a.m.—put on a pot of coffee, took a hot shower, and turned on the weather channel. As I sat looking at the day’s forecast with my steaming cup of joe, my phone rang. I thought it really odd that someone would call me at such an early hour, so I figured it must be pretty important. I answered the phone and it was my neighbor. She told me that she was hiding in her closet because someone had broken into her house. She needed help immediately, but she didn’t want to involve the police because her visa had run out and she was afraid of immigration officials being notified. I don’t condone illegal immigration, but she really is a nice lady, so I couldn’t say no.

So anyway, I hung up the phone and threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I put on my shoes and grabbed a kitchen knife from my butcher block. I would have taken a gun, but my husband keeps it with him, and he was out of town on business. I walked out of my back door towards my neighbor’s house. I crept around the shrubs and the rose garden to her back door. When I peeked in through the glass, I didn’t see anyone. First I tried the doorknob to see if it was unlocked. It wasn’t, but then I noticed the broken glass where the intruder had initially gained access. I’m still not sure why the intruder felt the need to lock the door behind him once inside the house.

I was a little afraid, but I had to help my friend. I reached in through the hole in the window and unlocked the door. Slowly, I pushed the door open, and fortunately it didn’t make a sound. I stepped in and pushed the door to and immediately hid beside the refrigerator. I stood listening for a few seconds to see if I could tell where the guy was. Beginning to lose my nerve, I finally heard faint sounds of shuffling and pilfering coming from the front of the house. I stepped toward the kitchen portal trying to be as quiet as possible. By this time, I knew it had to be after five-thirty, and I still hadn’t dried my hair for work. I knew that you would understand once I explained the situation, and I knew that you would disapprove of me leaving this helpless woman in the hands of this criminal, so I kept moving in pursuit of the assailant.

I finally had a visual, there in the master bedroom as he was going through all of my friends personal things on her dresser. He was stuffing his pockets with the contents of her jewelry box, when I sprang forward and caught him in the shoulder with the blade of my knife. He fell to the floor and cried out in pain. My friend emerged from her closet sanctuary and began hitting him with her flashlight. Just before she beat him unconscious, he sprang to his feet and ran out the front door. I ran to the door after him to see where he was headed. He was running down the street to a parked car two houses over. When I saw him speed off, I knew that I would have nothing to worry about because he never saw my face since he was too busy running.

I made sure that my friend was alright and then glanced at her clock on her nightstand. It was six o’clock! I was already late for work and had not even dressed yet. I rushed home, dressed, brushed my teeth, and tried to salvage my now-frizzy hair. I got in my car and started to back out of the driveway, when my car made this funny flip flop motion. I put the car in park and got out to examine the situation. My front tire was flat. I keep an extra tire in my trunk for such occasions because I really hate the look of a spare. I replaced the tire, but my clothes were all dirty, so I had to run back inside and change. I was finally able to leave my house by six forty-five. Thank you so much for understanding.

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Re: Late-for-Work Excuse - 3/16

Postby Nausicaa » Thu May 20, 2010 5:19 pm

My tie flew behind me as I jogged down Fifth Avenue and up the stairs to my office. My hair was in disarray, and my clothes were sloppy. I’d overslept, and my boss, Mr. Brunner, hates over-sleepers. My only hope is that I can slip inside and not attract any attention to myself.

I rush inside out building overlooking downtown Manhattan and sprint to the elevator, leaving the receptionist, Sarah, looking after me, bewildered. I abuse the “up” button with my thumb until the blasted machine dinged and opened its doors for me.

I arrived at floor twenty-six and stepped out, glancing over my shoulders as I padded my way across the distastefully carpeted floor and towards my cubicle. I was about five yards away from it when I made out the top of Mr. Brunner’s head on my left, bent over Erin’s computer. I tiptoed as best I could, trying not to breathe, and squeezed my eyes shut for the last home stretch. Four more steps…

Of course, because a ninja I am not, my briefcase hit a half-empty REAM of paper near the copier and scattered it all over the floor. Mr. Brunner’s head came up and looked me straight in the eye. I watched his steely grey irises sweep over my appearance and he jerked his head towards his office. My heart sank. Great, Sam, well done.

I found myself in his square office, desperately trying to smooth my hair down until Mr. Brunner strode in. He gestured towards a seat in front of his imposing oak desk and I took it nervously. Sitting down, my boss laced his fingers together, made a tent with them, and then rested his chin on them, staring at me pensively.

There were a few moments of silence.

“Well, Hensley, are you going to explain yourself or what?” He demanded, his gruff voice sounding like rocks scraping on sand. I gulped.

“Sir?” I tried to play it safe and innocent. Yeah right. Mr. Brunner’s eyebrows came down.

“What time are you supposed to be in this office and at that computer, Hensley?” He asked, as though he wasn’t aware already.

“Eight o’clock, sir,” I replied.

“And what time is it now?”

“Nine forty-seven, sir.”

There was a moment of silence, during which I considered bring out my pocket knife to cut the terrified tension in the room.

“So, explain to me why you’re late, Hensley.” He threw up his arms, leaning back in his leather arm chair. “Hell, tell me a goddamned story. Entertain me.” He said.

I swallowed and frantically began to think quickly. I couldn’t tell him about my trip to the local pub with Mark. He’d rip my throat out with those meaty post-Marine hands of his.

“Well, you see, sir. I had one hell of a night last night. You see, my father is in the hospital, and I went to see her.” I lied very smoothly, but Brunner’s hard gaze didn’t let up. You know what, to hell with it, I thought. I’ll give him a goddamned story. I’ll entertain him all right. “And, sir, while I was there, this woman showed up, and she was carrying the biggest bag you’d ever see! And then, she looks right at me and asks if I’m the son of the man in the bed. Well, I told her I was, and then she got all evil-eyed at me, and started chanting in what I am pretty sure was Latin. Then, this crazy old hag takes this enormous cross out of her bag and –s ir – she starts beating me in the head with it, yelling about me being some kind of Illuminatus.

Brunner frowned.

“What in Christ’s name—“

“That’s exactly what I was saying, sir. Anyway, this lady keeps claiming that I’m Satan’s son, and that I needed to be crucified to know the pain of Jesus or whatever. Don’t get me wrong, sir, I’d like to walk on water too, but crucifixion doesn’t sound like a complete walk in the park to me. So, then, these weirdoes in black robes come up, and there are four of them. The lead guy tells some of them to take the lady away, who had incidentally started foaming at the mouth and he tells me to come with him. I tell him that I’m not bloody goin’ anywhere, and so he grabs me by my arms and drags me away from my father’s sickbed, sir! So, these guys shove me in the back of this very nondescript black car, and we take a ride up to fountain square, where the head guy – who says his name is Santi – opens up some kind of secret passageway in the fountain!

“So we go in there, and I end up in some kind of secret base. These guys tell me that they’re a part of the Illuminati, and that they need to protect me, because I hold some kind of secret. And they keep calling me Robert Langdon, sir. So, I tell ‘em, I’m not this Robert guy! And they get all embarrassed looking and tell me that I can leave. So I get outside, and it’s pitch-dark, sir, and I run across this hobo who asks me for a few bucks.

I consider myself to be a nice guy, so I get my wallet out to give him something when he jumps me and takes all my money, sir! So, I’m lying there, sir, with my face all busted up and my head bleeding, sir, and I stumble out to the street. I try and hitch hike a ride back to my apartment, sir, and this nice trucker guy lets me in his cab. I kind of drift off there because I’ve had one tough night, sir. I wake up this morning, sir, and I see these unfamiliar lands out of the window, and the trucker tells me that we’re in Maine, sir!

“Naturally, I freak out. I accidentally jerk the Trucker’s arm, sir, and he drives us off of a cliff, right into the ocean! So I feel like I’m drowning in the water, and then I hear this awful roaring! It’s the US Coast Guard, and they put me in this helicopter, sir, and they drop me off in Albany. So I hitch hike my way back here, sir, and by that time it is eight ‘o clock, and I thrown on some clothes, grab my briefcase, and come into work, sir.”

There were a few moments of intense silence.

Brunner stood up, his mammoth frame towering over me. I looked up at him and tried to hide the fear in my eyes. He raises his arm, and I’m damn sure he’s gonna hit me. Instead, he pats my shoulder.

“Okay, Hensley. I’ll take it.” He says. I sit in baffled silence and the stand as he walks out of his office. “Oh, and Hensley? Don’t expect to pull this again. Next time you’re out with your buddies at Yats, make sure your boss isn’t shooting pool.”

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RE: Late-for-Work Excuse - 3/16

Postby proudceltic7 » Thu Jul 15, 2010 6:43 pm

The past hour was a blur of nerves and quick preparations. I overslept for more than an hour! I woke up; automatically thinking it was the weekend. When I rolled over and saw my calendar, I was out of bed and out of the apartment like a bullet. My boss isn’t a nice boss. He is strict, mean and angry. He was a legend in the business, but you didn’t get to be a legend without being vicious.
I could see it already; rushing in, being called to his desk and given a pink slip. I need a job badly. My boss can’t stand people who oversleep. The only thing that might save my job is a good tale (I’ve heard that he has a soft spot for those). I formulated the story, picturing my expressions and emotions, smoothing the speech over in my head.
When I took the elevator up to our floor, no one else shared it with me, a bad sign. That meant I wasn’t just late, I was really late. Breathing a deep breath I ran right out of the elevator, into my boss’s office. He was in there alone, smoking a huge cigar and reading the paper. He didn’t even notice I was there until I slammed his door shut and pulled down all the blinds.
“Miss. Jenkins! What is the meaning of this? First you overslept, now you have the gull-“
I interrupted. “I didn’t oversleep, sir.”
` I went around to his office view and yanked those blinds down as well. His face was turning red faster than what was probably healthy. I looked down to the noisy city nervously through the blinds. Making a show of breathing deeply and running my hands through my hair, he started to look concerned.
“What-" I cut him off again.
“Did anyone come asking for me?”
“No! Why would they? What happened?”
I stopped, heaved a sad sigh and sat down in front of the desk, after checking that the door was locked, of course.
“I took an alternative route to work today, hitching a ride with a friend. You know, to be greener?” I gestured to the companies motto embedded on the wall, “Our Money is Green, Our Earth Should Be Too”
“We stopped down by the old warehouses on the south side and he told me to stay in the car. I did, thinking nothing of it. As time went on, I started hearing shouting and saw smoke rising from the roof. I went inside to see if they needed my help.” I stopped then and heaved a theatrical sob.
He walked around the desk and laid a hand on my shoulder.
“Go on.” He said, with a strange mixture of anticipation, excitement, and apprehension.
“I went inside. And I thought I heard gunfire. I can’t even describe the scene! It was too horrible. I jumped in my car and drove off as fast as I could. Then I came here. I don’t know if they followed me or. . .” I trailed off and buried my face in my hands.
“It’ll be fine,” he said reassuringly, “We have the highest security in the city, except for City Hall.” So if I were you,” he was slowly returning to his usual demeanor and volume, “I’d get back to work!”
I scurried out of his office. I was very proud of myself. The next day a package arrived on my desk. In it was a ticket to a Broadway musical, a free week at acting camp, and a small note. The note read, “Good job, a worthy story. Don’t oversleep next time.” I saw out of the corner of my eye the boss’s office. He was looking at me and chuckling, which was quite out of his character.
I smiled to myself. Maybe it would’ve been easier if I had just called in sick.


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