At the Office
Light Verse by Don Tidwell
     Office Crew

     Bored Meeting
     Desk Audit
     Dangerous Anne and Her Typing Machine
     Redneck Employment Agency



The panel had assembled
In the corporate conference room
To formulate procedures
Meant to counter gloom and doom.

The chairman banged his gavel,
As members found their places ...
He anticipated boredom
From the looks on all their faces.

The big boss called for order
And got things under way,
Outlining goals and problems
To be reckoned with that day.

Past minutes were presented
In a wordy marathon,
The monotonous presenter
Seemed to ramble on and on.

Charts and graphs and footnotes
Portrayed the corporate take;
Members heads were nodding
In their bid to stay awake.

The sandman worked his magic
On each member one by one.
Each head drooped to the table --
Dreaded ennui had won!

Nap time claimed the chairman too --
Corporate woes would keep;
All the corporation big-wigs
Were in dreamville .... fast asleep!


DESK AUDIT For the things that I do I get paid pretty good -- Uncle Sam is quite loose with his pay, for I sit on my kiester and answer the phone, and it don't matter much what I say. "Line one if for Sharon or Wanda or Rod or Verl or Aunt Lee or Odean, or if line one is busy, I yell out "Line Two"... it's so easy it's almost obscene! Oh once in awhile a call is for me when supply is affecting some mission, but I pass the buck quickly and tell the offender to contact the goldern technician!! My only complaint 'bout the whole damned routine comes when Rod fails to jump when I holler. He acts like he's busy or cant hear a thing, and it makes me hot under the collar. Then once in awhile when lights flash and bells ring, while Odean's got his radio squeakin, he'll get there before me and pick up the phone and say "This here's Hamblin a speakin!!" I guess some folks think that I ain't worth my salt ... Well, there may be a healing prescription: Call Lyddy the giddy from C. Personnel, and re-write my damned job description!!


DANGEROUS ANNE AND HER TYPING MACHINE There is in our office, a lass sweet and clean, Who pounds all day long on her typing machine. Her first name is Anne, and we all know full well, That her last name rings out with her typewriter, Bell. She has placed her machine in a juxta-position Which upholds the disgruntled typists tradition; Has narrowed the aisle so that all who must pass When she touches her tab, gets a jab in the: 2.Hind pocket 3.You know what To enliven the outlook of those who disparage, She fastened a point on the end of her carriage, Then as one would approach a dull pencil to dress, She'd select the right key, and the rest you can guess. Uncle Ralph as the first, bore the brunt of her joke ... It startled him so that his pencil got broke! It made him too jumpy to try it again ... When his pencil wears down now, he uses a pen. Poor Dave, giving orders, was being quite blunt, When she triggered her carriage and caught him in front. The sail full of wind fell right out of that man As he clutched at his fly and took off for the can!!! In due process of time he returned with remorse, Appearing as though he'd been kicked by a horse ... Or so Eva Jenson, just passing by, said; She was asked to believe a "typewriter" instead. Then offers of help in the hour of his need Began to pour in from those in on the deed: Anne offered a band aid, which David rejected ... He wanted no help from a choice she'd selected. Joyce thought that a splint was the cure for the trick, But a leg from her desk was too bulky and thick. Ed offered some ice, and advised with a frown, "Just hold it in place 'til the swelling goes down." This load thrust upon him was all Dave could take ... By now he was sure it was all a mistake. The immediate future looked nothing but bleak, So he locked up his desk and took off for a week. This tale really happened, and I was right there. It makes a good point in which all men can share. The moral is this, and it's plain to be seen: "Don't mess with our Anne and her typing machine!!!"


REDNECK EMPLOYMENT AGENCY I traipsed to Redneck Country While in search of fair employment, Needing cash or other subsidy To nurture my enjoyment. One feller handed me a pad With lots a questions on it, And told me to come back When I had made my marks upon it. I couldn't understand em And they nearly made me hot When they said I had to tell em, 'bout how many kids I got, And how old is my pick-up, And do I wear odd shoes And is the kinda beer I drink, The same kind they would choose? The rest wuz jist as silly, So I reckoned then as how That no matter how they begged me, I'd not work for them nohow !!



© Don Tidwell, 1953-2003

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