The Journey To HR, Part 102!

The HR lady pressed a button on her desk.

One of the many, many door opened and a group of people skipped on in.

They all wore white coats and each carried a different implement, from a butter knife to a chainsaw.

Bob attempted to open his mucus-caked eyes wide, but miserably failed.

“Oh, a doo run run,” he muttered as they lifted him from the chair.

They set him gently on the floor and, after a few kicks, surrounded him.

“I can’t see anything!” I complained loudly.

“You’re not supposed to,” said the HR lady, lighting a cigarette while opening a bottle of Zima.

Then they began.

To this day as well as the other one and a couple to follow eventually, I’ll never forget the sounds.

The snipping.

The sawing.

The “ping”.

The crunching.

The wet sounds.

There was probably screaming, but I wasn’t too worried about that.

The churgling.

Then silence.

The sounds of high fives.

Some laughter.

Then the people were gone.

Bob lay on the floor, surrounded by blood, shredded skin, snot, spittle and a bone or two.

After a few minutes, he finally got up and sat back down in the chair.

We looked at him.

Then we laughed.

“That’s it?” I asked, still laughing.

“That’s it!” exclaimed the HR lady, finishing up the Zima and tossing the bottle to the side.

Bob groaned.

His eyes were now clear and he looked down.

“My legs?” he asked.

“GONE!” the HR lady and I responded.

“My arms?” he asked.

“GONE!” we replied.

We chuckled as he wept.

“Don’t forget the two inches removed from the top of your head!” said the HR lady.

Bob was now sobbing so hard that he fell from the chair.

“How did he get back to the chair?” I asked as he rolled around on the floor.

“Doesn’t matter,” said the HR lady. “Now it’s time for phase two of The Shortening! He’s still contractually obligated to write a column every week and we have to make sure he can.”

“How?” I asked.

The HR lady smiled, reached under her desk and grabbed a large tin bucket.

“Wow,” I replied as she placed it on the desk.

“PHASE TWO!” she declared with yet another smile.

“Seriously,” Bob said. “One hundred was enough. This is getting old. Mowgli.”

I shrugged.