The DMV, the stripper, and me.

The other day at work I had to spend my lunch break running errands -namely, getting my car registered. So I spent a horrible lunch break trying to get over to the DMV and finally made it there after having to stop by the safety and emissions testing place, going the wrong way on Center street, and having to parallel park, which I do not know how to do. Anyway, I got the new plates and miracle of miracles only had to spend about 15 minutes at the DMV, so I raced back to work, arriving with a few minutes to spare before I had to clock back in. Except I couldn't clock back in, because I couldn't get through the door of the office.

Earlier in the day one of my bosses had received a bouquet of roses roughly the size, though not the shape, of Texas. It was her 5 year anniversary, and her husband was being romantic. That same boss was outside the office door when I got back from the DMV, and she was in handcuffs, with two party hats on her head, as a fake cop was writing her out a ticket. He was a middle aged man with large mirrored sunglasses and a badge on the sleeve of his uniform that said "oinker patrol". He wrote out the ticket, gave her a stern lecture, and then proceeded to strip.

With a whip of his belt, off came the pants. Then the shirt. Underneath his clothes he was wearing a leopard skin Tarzan type outfit, with his chest hairs peeking out the top and his garment bottoms peeking out the bottom. He was also wearing grey dress socks that came halfway up his hairy calves. He sang a slightly shocking song about marriage to the Mexican hat dance song. And when it was all over he announced that he liked my boss so much he was going to let her keep the handcuffs.

I finally managed to get through the door to my desk where I clocked in and wondered why I couldn't have been held up at the DMV like every other person.