A tale of tupperware
I don’t know how it happened, dear reader, but I somehow managed to find myself gainfully employed. I never thought the helter-skelter of my life would take such a drastic turn into plebsville but here I am, scouring bee thoraxes in the local veterinary clinic for minimum wage. A gentleman of my stature should not be reduced to mere thoraxes! Nevertheless, here I am.
As I was walking home last night, I stumbled upon a cache of discarded tupperware. Clearly some great heist had been undertaken only for the miscreants to require a quick method of disposing of their ill-gotten “phat lootz”, as I have heard Mister Dumbleby – the manager of the veterinary clinic – refer to them. I decided that the best course of action was to collect up the tupperware and deposit them at my local police station. I am a good citizen after all and what does a good citizen do if not dump tupperware in the foyer of their local cop shop?
There was quite a lot of tupperware so I needed a wheelbarrow to move it all in. Old Mister Franks, who lives next door to the surgery where I have been working my fingers to the bone for the last two days, has a wheelbarrow in his garden. I tried knocking on his door to ask if I could borrow it but all the lights went out in his house and somebody told me to stop shouting through the letterbox so I guess he was out. Anyway, I managed to unscrew the hinges on his garden gate and thus secure access to the wheelbarrow (which I promised to return later!) so off I went to collect the tupperware.
By the time I got back to it, a couple of tramps were sniffing around the place so I made a sound like a moose and charged the first one in order to show them who was boss. They shouted some nonsense about how I was a “menace to society” but I think they must have been thinking about someone else because obviously I was being a good citizen! Anyway, I quickly scooped up the tupperware and stuffed it into the wheelbarrow. From there it was just a short run – and run I had to because the tramps came at me with knives! – before I made it to the police station.
Anyway, to cut a long story short apparently it’s against the law to break into someone’s garden, fight a couple of tramps and then steal some plastic boxes from the back of your boss’ car even if he did leave the boot open. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I lost my job at the veterinary clinic.