Hostage: Dr. Marten
January 7th 2009 22:36
Somebody call the police: my shoes are being held hostage!
Next Monday, I will be jobless. Unemployed. On the dole. The bosses at my job decided back in December that my absence due to sickness (chronic back problems) was unacceptable and that they didn't want to continue paying me to lie around at home and drink coffee. While this is a blatantly prejudiced standpoint, clearly victimising me for my love of caffeine, I would never have expected them to resort to kidnapping to get me to sort out the paperwork.
However, today I received an email. "Sign the papers or you'll never see your shoes again," it reads. I knew I shouldn't have left them there. My poor Dr. Martens: they were always tucked under my desk in a plastic bag, ready and waiting to keep my little tootsies warm throughout the working day. They never complained that I preferred to walk to work in a pair of trainers. They didn't mind me only using them because they were smart. They were always sorry that they chopped my ankles up and made my heels bleed while I was walking them in.
My poor shoes, alone and helpless at the hands of the capitalist pigs. What can I do? Who can help me? I must save them!
Die Hard 5: Sole Survivor. Where's Bruce Willis when you need him?
Next Monday, I will be jobless. Unemployed. On the dole. The bosses at my job decided back in December that my absence due to sickness (chronic back problems) was unacceptable and that they didn't want to continue paying me to lie around at home and drink coffee. While this is a blatantly prejudiced standpoint, clearly victimising me for my love of caffeine, I would never have expected them to resort to kidnapping to get me to sort out the paperwork.
However, today I received an email. "Sign the papers or you'll never see your shoes again," it reads. I knew I shouldn't have left them there. My poor Dr. Martens: they were always tucked under my desk in a plastic bag, ready and waiting to keep my little tootsies warm throughout the working day. They never complained that I preferred to walk to work in a pair of trainers. They didn't mind me only using them because they were smart. They were always sorry that they chopped my ankles up and made my heels bleed while I was walking them in.
My poor shoes, alone and helpless at the hands of the capitalist pigs. What can I do? Who can help me? I must save them!
Die Hard 5: Sole Survivor. Where's Bruce Willis when you need him?
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