Why Humor Writers Should Never Be Security Officers
I was running across some old files the other day (I'm still in Prague but this ended up on my laptop somehow), and I used to have this really corny job as a security officer for a major hotel. It was a dorky job, and it didn't involve a lot of thinking (which was perfect for me) but part of the job was writing situation reports. Most of the staff was functionally illiterate, so those were always fun to read, but I used to go overboard and have WAY too much fun with my reports. Here's one of the ones that was rejected:
"On September 7, at approximately 1400 hours, while fighting off a squad of evil ninjas on the 7th floor of the hotel garage for control of a nuclear activation device they were going to set off to assassinate a visiting dignitary from South Africa, I noticed that a red BMW was left with its window rolled down and its door was unlocked. Realizing the melting temperature of mercury-cadmium telluride samples is just under 972 kelvin, I accessed the vehicle and rolled up the window. While remembering the honor I felt when Reagan pinned on my Congressional Medal of Honor during that wonderful White House ceremony, I was confronted by a tall, beautiful blonde wearing a mink coat and little else. She informed me that she was in fact the owner of the BMW and opened her coat for me to alone to see and told me she felt it was necessary to reward me, using strange, alien terms such as 'you hunk of stud muscle' and 'you so dreamy man of every woman's fantasy.' I thanked her but informed her that the only reward I could ever desire was to know that she was a very satisfied guest at the San Francisco Hilton Hotel. I allowed her to blow my whistle as a consolation (the one on my key chain) and then went off in search of those evil ninjas who were most certainly up to the 9th floor by now. Damn ninjas!"
For some reason, they felt my report required a rewrite. Critics!
Stumble It!
I was running across some old files the other day (I'm still in Prague but this ended up on my laptop somehow), and I used to have this really corny job as a security officer for a major hotel. It was a dorky job, and it didn't involve a lot of thinking (which was perfect for me) but part of the job was writing situation reports. Most of the staff was functionally illiterate, so those were always fun to read, but I used to go overboard and have WAY too much fun with my reports. Here's one of the ones that was rejected:
"On September 7, at approximately 1400 hours, while fighting off a squad of evil ninjas on the 7th floor of the hotel garage for control of a nuclear activation device they were going to set off to assassinate a visiting dignitary from South Africa, I noticed that a red BMW was left with its window rolled down and its door was unlocked. Realizing the melting temperature of mercury-cadmium telluride samples is just under 972 kelvin, I accessed the vehicle and rolled up the window. While remembering the honor I felt when Reagan pinned on my Congressional Medal of Honor during that wonderful White House ceremony, I was confronted by a tall, beautiful blonde wearing a mink coat and little else. She informed me that she was in fact the owner of the BMW and opened her coat for me to alone to see and told me she felt it was necessary to reward me, using strange, alien terms such as 'you hunk of stud muscle' and 'you so dreamy man of every woman's fantasy.' I thanked her but informed her that the only reward I could ever desire was to know that she was a very satisfied guest at the San Francisco Hilton Hotel. I allowed her to blow my whistle as a consolation (the one on my key chain) and then went off in search of those evil ninjas who were most certainly up to the 9th floor by now. Damn ninjas!"
For some reason, they felt my report required a rewrite. Critics!
Stumble It!
posted by Duane @ 11:46 PM
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