bruiser_boy

People just don't make any sense sometimes.

This afternoon, as I was putting away cds in the international section, I spied a metal object lying on the top shelf of the r-various artists rack. Curious, I picked the object up and gave it a once-over.

Y'arr, thought I in a salty dog inrernal monologue, What devilry be this?

It appeared to have been some kind of mounting plate or possible a handle from a drawer. On closer inspection, I noticed that the back of the object was covered in tape, as if to provide its user with a better grip. One end of the object appeared to have been sharpened down like a gouging chisel.

Be it the scurvey? I asked myself. No, the scurvey be disease. Be it a booty? No, booty be round and inviting.

Suddenly, I remembered my Oz.

"SHIVER ME TIMBERS!" I exclaimed, loudly (as indicated by the capitalization) "It be a shiv! A shank! An improvised prison or hobo knife used to stab inmates or railroad security guards (or in this case, assumably to cut the security tags of our merchandise and possibly tickle my ribs, should I i try to stop them)."

I took the shiv out back and showed it to Jay and Luc. They concurred. It was definitely a shiv.

So now that I work in an environment in which the customers feel the need to arm themselves with shivs, regardless of the fact that the Army Barracks Surplus Store next door sells knives, I am in the market for some soap on a rope so I can use the employee washroom without having to worry about becoming someone's bitch.