My office was hot. Luckily, my office has a closed door, so I was able
to do
what any red-blooded American male would do in a hot, stuffy, private
office.
Yes, I reached into my shorts and scratched Mr. Left.
My mind was far from hot crotch issues. I needed to buy gib bars and
I was
surfing the web to find a supplier. (As I’m sure you know, gib bars
hold
perforation blades in place on a printing press.) But they are not
easy to find
on the web. So I was surfin’, scratching’ and pondering.
I was pondering “why.”
Why, when I put the words “gib” and “perforation” into the search engine,
was treated to a list of German butt-sex sites. Not that there’s anything
wrong with German butt-sex sites…I just wanted something else. So I
stared
at the bold “gib”s and bold “perforation”s amid a sea of Kraut and
ass,
scratched Mr. Left, and pondered.
Then the guy barged into my office.
So there I was – one hand in my pants, other hand on my mouse, and a
list
of German perversions on my screen. I jerked my hand guiltily out of
my
pants (is there any other way to jerk your hand out of your pants?)
and
turned crimson. Before I could say anything, the intruder stammered
something about “wrong office” and quickly departed, taking my dignity
with him.
I hid in my office until everybody else left today.