Feet.
Many moons ago I was a nurse. I then changed careers and went to work in advertising. At one particular advertising agency I worked for they sent us two South African Creative Directors to "whip us into shape." Both of them were pretty odious, full of themselves, and not very good creatively, but one of them was a misogynistic pain in the rear. This story relates to him, let's call him "Mark," for want of a better name. Mark marches into my office one day and says, "Woofie, you used to be a nurse didn't you?" To which I replied, "yes." "Well, will you pare my corns for me? My feet are clean and I have a blade with me." My mouth nearly hit the floor. I was a writer and this "ass" was asking me to pare his corns. I also hate feet! Luckily, the office manager heard the conversation and intervened, making him an appointment with a local chiropodist. I think this has to be the strangest request I've ever had from a boss, and since advertising is a pretty strange business, that's saying something.
(Woofie, Tue 23 Jun 2009, 17:15, 1 reply)

It's a good job he was a bloke...
...because it's well known that Hell hath no fury like a woman's corns.



I'll get my coat.
( Amish Information Systems hates misplaced, commas, Tue 23 Jun 2009, 17:38, closed)