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T H I S    W E E K

WATERSLIDES IN AUXILIARY HOSPITAL WASHROOM by Daniel Thompson

 

Ravenous Dumpsters

More and more dumpsters came to feed along Henry's ten-block amble to work. Each morning, he dodged an increasing army of workers wearing overalls and ski masks who filled the hungry iron bins with fixtures, files, and employees.

Weeks passed. The feeding frenzy continued.

The big boss at Henry's office hung a giant banner that loomed over all the cubicles: Don't worry. Everything is okay. That's when Henry was promoted to middle management and he started carrying a briefcase that he took everywhere. If he went to the water cooler or the restroom or outside for a smoke, Henry had his briefcase with him, but he never opened it, and his colleagues joked that he probably kept nothing in it but crackers, like Kramer in Seinfeld.

The dumpsters kept coming, ravenous in the mornings and gorged on failure in the evenings.

Don't worry. Everything is okay…

Henry entered his office that last morning to find the big boss swinging dead at the end of the banner and workers wearing overalls and ski masks hauling out the fixtures, the files, and the employees.

Henry hugged his briefcase and waited until he was lifted by his shoulders and ankles and carried outside. “Don't worry,” he was told as he was tossed into the dumpster. “Everything is okay.”

Lying in the pile, Henry lit a cigarette, opened his briefcase, and turned the switch inside of it…

“Hey,” someone yelled, “there's no smoking in here!”

… Henry pulled out a sleeve of crackers, closed his briefcase, and tore open his snack.

“See?” someone in the heap chuckled. “I told you.”

The laughter echoed for another twenty-five seconds until the explosion emptied the dumpster onto the street.

 




J. Bear Savo, author and auctioneer, is married with one son and three cats. His personal penchants include sarcasm, cynicism, and micropoetry, some of which can be read here. Follow him on Twitter.