STORIES OF JUVENILE DELINQENCY

Well, first thing this morning, I walked in to Ronnie's office to pay my dollar for wearing jeans, with a button hidden in my pocket. It was hidden in my pocket, because it was a button that we are supposed to wear for friday, after we have turned in our money. The idea is that we should turn them in that afternoon (Ronnie has FREAKED about people not turning them in before. FREAKED.)

My plan was to pay my dollar (where ronnie could see me do it), then quietly slip out and put on my own ill-gotten button. As I lay my dollar in the tray, she says, "Are there any buttons in there?" I look, and say no. "Check under the dollar bills." And sure enough, there was one. Ronnie watched me like a hawk as I took the button, put it on, and walked away. So now I have TWO ill-gotten buttons that I will forget to turn in this afternoon.

My second STORY OF JUVENILE DELINQENCY is a pretty simple one. While sitting at my desk, I was asked by our receptionist (famous for asking/telling me to do things when she actually technically works for me) to take empty boxes downstairs to the lady who, I don't know, eats empty boxes or something. When I asked where this was, she gave me some crackhead's description of an office on the first floor that may or may not only be reached by those of Pure Heart and by answering a series of riddles. I had no idea what she was talking about, so when I went downstairs, I basically put the boxes (like ten, in all) in the lobby, next to the wall, and literally ran away.

STICK IT TO DA MAN!