There is a time and place for everything, guys. The Byrds said it much more prettily than that, but the concept is the same: there are appropriate venues for specific actions. Tennis should be played on a tennis court. Crack should be sold in the ‘hood. Anal sex should always be performed–always–in the butt. When one or the other of a proper couple is altered, the universe becomes imbalanced, and has to right itself by giving us television shows like Lost, and by inventing ass cancer.
Having said that, I swear I caught a minion jerking off in the bathroom today.
I won’t go into too many details, because we all know what jerking off is about: not so much the “jerking” as the “off”. Suffice to say that I went searching for one of my wayward minions today, a kid who conveniently wanders off whenever there’s work to be done. After about twenty minutes, I ended up quitting the search on the reasonable, mature, wholly defensible grounds that I had to take a massive dump. By “wholly defensible” I mean that no one in their right mind would ever require me to prove my assertion that I had, in fact, taken a massive dump. However, I digress.
Upon entering the shop bathroom–one toilet stall, one sink, one urinal–I noticed a pair of (safety-write-up-worthy) Nike basketball shoes swinging around haphazardly beneath the door of the toilet stall. The toes were pointed straight out, like someone stretching early in the morning, which is completely understandable; the only problem was, it was almost lunch time.
I didn’t stick around and watch the show, because I would like to achieve at least one more guilt-free erection before I die, and there’s no way I could ever a) get it completely up, and b) have sex with The Girlfriend without the image of a self-abusing minion popping into my head.
Obviously, I didn’t want to call his name or knock. I’m usually pretty polite about things like that–when and if they come up (accidental punnage, sorry)–but remember, I had to unload a book-of-the-month-caliber steamer posthaste, and this little jerk-off (sorry again) was wasting valuable clean pants time. So, before I left the bathroom, I did the only reasonable thing I could think of…
After a stern talking-to from my supervisor’s supervisor, I was compelled to apologize to the man I had terribly embarassed by my insensitivity and lack of couth.
“Sorry, Garrett,” I said sheepishly.
“That’s okay, Kenneth,” Garrett cheerfully replied around a massive lump of chaw in his lip. “I know you weren’t trying to pull nothin’ over on me.”
“Yeah, but you know how it is…”
“Hell,” he retorted gleefully. “If it had been me, I’d have sent Barbara in there after ‘im!”
Yes, Dear Reader, you understood that correctly: “Garrett” is not my minion, but a regular employee who has been with my company for thirty years. He is also a Vietnam veteran, gun enthusiast, and a devout lover of snakes. That last attribute came in handy when I told him that there was a big-ass snake in the men’s room, but I couldn’t figure out whether it was a king snake or a moccassin.
It took maybe ten seconds for the entire event to transpire, but it was worth it, if while viewing only from the sidelines. Garrett had burst into the bathroom with a broom and small wastebasket in hand, and a full-face welding mask on with the tinted lens pulled up. He looked, in short, fucking scary.
Garrett assured me that the scream from the bathroom most likely came from the minion, who may or may not have been actually jacking off. Garrett wasn’t sure, since he was looking at the ground for the snake. The minion was so embarassed, I assume, that he took the rest of the afternoon off, leaving without even getting his paycheck.
All in all, I’d say it was a good ten seconds spent wisely.