“We need to update our customer service practice,” Professor Plum said as he entered the mail room. “We should start with yelling and escalate from there.”
He read the mail…. (More)
Professor Plum then left with Ms. Scarlet to join the resident faculty in the
wine cellar library, where they’ll spend the weekend drinking thinking on our motto of Magis vinum, magis verum (“More wine, more truth”).
In the staff poker game, the
Professor of Astrology Janitor tried a new betting practice. Rather than sliding his chips into the middle and quietly saying “Call” or “Raise,” he decided to stand, glare around the table, pick up all of his chips, plunk them solidly in the middle, and say “Take that! Grr!”
Pootie the Precious opened one eye halfway, then rolled over. The Squirrel giggled and tapped at his Blewberry: “Does he realize how many tells he broadcasts with such a display?”
“Probably not, and let’s not warn him,” Chef whispered. She turned to the
Professor of Astrology Janitor: “I’ll call.”
“How dare you call me?” the
Professor of Astrology Janitor snarled. “I’m betting with authority!”
The Squirrel peeked at his cards and folded. Chef chuckled and turned hers face-up. “And I’m calling with a pair of Kings.”
Professor of Astrology Janitor turned over the Ace and Jack of Diamonds. “You’ll learn not to question my power!”
The Squirrel tapped at his Blewberry: “Did he go to a flight attendant convention this week?”
“It’s either that,” Chef said with a wink as she dealt out the Ten of Clubs, Five of Diamonds, and Three of Hearts on the flop, “or he’s been reading the God-King’s Twitter feed again.”
“I told you to turn off all electronic devices at the table!” the
Professor of Astrology Janitor thundered as Chef dealt the Queen of Spades on the flop.
“Must’ve been the flight attendant convention,” the Squirrel texted.
“Sounds like it,” Chef said as she turned up the Six of Clubs on the river.
“But this is the new America,” the
Professor of Astrology Janitor insisted, “where freedom means obeying without question orders given by anyone in a uniform! Oh, and I’m male so show some respect. Put another card out. Come on, hit me!”
“I’m male too,” the Squirrel texted with a shrug.
“But I’m wearing a uniform!” the
Professor of Astrology Janitor said, pointing to his coveralls.
Chef rolled her eyes and dealt an extra card, the Nine of Hearts. “You’re still losing. And you’re giving away the mail room clerk’s reply to that jackass American Airlines flight attendant.”
We nodded quietly.
“She can answer another letter instead!” the
Professor of Astrology Janitor insisted. “Keep those cards coming. Five cards is a ridiculous standard. We’ll move the goal posts until I get a win!”
The Squirrel tapped at his Blewberry. “That sounded more like the God-King.”
“And another letter bites the dust before the mail room clerk can reply,” Chef said as she dealt the Six of Spades.
We nodded again.
“I have a pair of Sixes!” the
Professor of Astrology Janitor said, “and an Ace!”
“And I have a pair of Sixes,” Chef replied, “and a pair of Kings. So you’re still losing.”
“I think we’re in great shape to avoid a shutdown,” the
Professor of Astrology Janitor declared. “Just keep dealing cards until I get what I want.”
“That’s three letters the mail room clerk can’t answer now,” the Squirrel texted.
We shrugged and nodded again.
“Are there any other letters in the pile?” Chef asked.
We handed her the last one.
“Oh,” Chef said. “That’s for me. To make an Airline Breakfast, just get two sausage and biscuit sandwiches out of the freezer, open the packet, wrap them in a paper towel, and microwave them for 80 seconds. Then tell the passengers that meal service is for first class only, but everyone else can have a packet of three mini-pretzels.”
“No peanuts?” the Squirrel texted.
Chef shook her head. “Nut allergies are too dangerous in a closed airplane cabin.”
The Squirrel tapped at his Blewberry: “But we’re not in a closed airplane cabin.”
“True,” Chef said. “I’ll get you some macadamias.”
“Tray tables must be in the upright and locked position!” the
Professor of Astrology Janitor growled. “Or I’ll lock you up, right!”
Pootie the Precious pawed her iHazPhone: “Dat joke iz over, rite?”
Photo Credit: Surain Adyanthaya (Facebook)