Yesterday afternoon the book shelves on the wall behind my desk collapsed, falling forward and casting hardback books and lever arch files in a deadly arc towards my exposed and vulnerable neck, severing my spinal cord and causing massive skull fractures which in turn led to inter-cranial haemorrhaging.
Well, they would have done, had I actually been sitting at my desk at the time.
Luckily, I merely heard the crash from the (relative) safety of an RnD meeting and returned to find the contents of the shelves strewn around my desk being prodded by several stunned colleagues who were stumbling through the wreckage like victims in the wake of a terrorist attack… and who are now eyeing the shelves above their own desks somewhat askance.
Apparently, the fact that this is a book publishing company and that, consequently, its staff might need to, like, store actual books on the shelves was lost on the muppet who put them up using only inch and a half screws in plastic rawl plugs.
Colleague: “Well, your Guardian Angel must be looking out for you today!”
Me: “Yes. Lovely. And, if they’re listening, of course I’m terribly grateful but if they could just turn their attention to delivering Niall Ferguson or Nathan Fillion, naked and oiled, to my flat at some point in the not-too-distant future I’d be even more impressed.”
Colleague: “Ha ha, you’re so funny.”
Me: “That wasn’t a joke.”
Colleague: “ha ha haaa!”