I'm getting drunk(ish) and packing some shit up. Moving to a new place in a few weeks, so I figur'd I'd see what kind of crap I have at my storage facility. Pilfering through your own old nick nacks is an excellent way to avoid working out and a perfect excuse to add a touch more Bailey's to your coffee than you would on a normal night.
Ya' know, for a zen kinda' guy I sure do have a lot of random shit. Damn sentimental motherfucker.
Found the following two items hidden among the contents of a random assortment of books/highly flammable materials with wordstuff and pictures of womenses clad in naught but their sins:
Identical on the outside. Impossible to discern one from t'other until ya' open 'em up.
I received this during my final week working for the International Association of Chiefs of Police.
During my stint for the IACP I had helped John, my boss, locate a couple of the faux leather-bound flip binders from the IACP's storage locker for then-departing co-workers. By the time I was ready to receive mine... meh, no biggie. Everybody got 'em. Kinda' like the consolation prize in lieu of the hackneyed gold retirement watch.
When I began working for the Association, I was placed with the other lowbies on the first floor of the main building. It was the location where the higher-ups carted the, uh... undesirables. We were the over-flow office. A smattering of finances, the company's travel agent, some technical folks, accounting, interns, et cetera. When I was promoted mid-year, I was given the option of moving from my shitty desk working back-to-back with the ar'tards to som'n a little more spacious and far-less hectic. I turned the offer down immediately.
When I received the following (stolen, mind you) letter of appreciation on my final day at the office, I knew I'd made the right choice not to move away from the first floor:
Since then I work twice as many hours, and I dislike all but one of my co-workers. Growing up sure is fuckin' sweet, isn't it!?
I miss my First Floor Freaks.
Ya' know, for a zen kinda' guy I sure do have a lot of random shit. Damn sentimental motherfucker.
Found the following two items hidden among the contents of a random assortment of books/highly flammable materials with wordstuff and pictures of womenses clad in naught but their sins:
Identical on the outside. Impossible to discern one from t'other until ya' open 'em up.
I received this during my final week working for the International Association of Chiefs of Police.
During my stint for the IACP I had helped John, my boss, locate a couple of the faux leather-bound flip binders from the IACP's storage locker for then-departing co-workers. By the time I was ready to receive mine... meh, no biggie. Everybody got 'em. Kinda' like the consolation prize in lieu of the hackneyed gold retirement watch.
When I began working for the Association, I was placed with the other lowbies on the first floor of the main building. It was the location where the higher-ups carted the, uh... undesirables. We were the over-flow office. A smattering of finances, the company's travel agent, some technical folks, accounting, interns, et cetera. When I was promoted mid-year, I was given the option of moving from my shitty desk working back-to-back with the ar'tards to som'n a little more spacious and far-less hectic. I turned the offer down immediately.
When I received the following (stolen, mind you) letter of appreciation on my final day at the office, I knew I'd made the right choice not to move away from the first floor:
Since then I work twice as many hours, and I dislike all but one of my co-workers. Growing up sure is fuckin' sweet, isn't it!?
I miss my First Floor Freaks.