Last week someone at work placed into my mailbox a folded brochure for a strip-club in Brockton called "The Foxy Lady." And six complementary passes to a strip-show.
The brochure advertised a half-dozen busty women with names like Candy and Tiny (the latter being, I assume, an ironic twist on her boob-size).
There was no note with these items, no indication of who'd sent them. I would've thought it was junk-mail except that there was no envelope, either.
This was definitely the biggest work mystery since the Case of the Missing NutraGrain Bar!
I brought the tickets to my desk and promptly made an announcement and inquiry to my nearby coworkers in order to prevent any chance of getting caught apparently trying to keep them all for myself.
If the tickets were meant as a joke, only with these nearby people am I chummy enough for that kind of thing, although it didn't seem to fit any of their senses of humor. My new boss averted his eyes when I flashed the brochure. Jason denied being the sender. So did everyone else. That left the Upstairs People.
I emailed Pam, the customer service woman, who knows better than anyone what's up in this place. ("Mice," she had said about the missing NutraGrain Bar, long before I discovered the scraps of chewed foil.) To this case she responded with several possible theories, the most likely being that they were intended as a joke for the Other Ben, the one Upstairs -- not me. Finally Pam concluded with a PS: "Show me them."
I did, and left them with her, adding that she should probably pass them along to Porn Guy. Six passes to a strip-show. It would be his lucky day.
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