The Paperless Office

by pjmcbride

But first…

Sign on $ General door: “Please Supervise Your Children While In the Store.” Once they’re off the property, go ahead and let them play in traffic.

Song heard at Thornton’s: “I hate you so much, it must be true love.” And that’s how a baby-daddy situation starts.

Overheard on the bus: “He really takes care of me, whenever someone’s about to hit me with their fist. He broke one guy’s shoulder.” Um, is being hit with various fists a regular situation for you?

Oh, and speaking of bus conversations, Rom reminds us that the woman the other day talking about her apprehension by the police also mentioned that the arresting helicopter had machine guns on it. Or maybe it was that movie she saw.


“I need the police. My 9-year-old won’t come in the house.” Now I have no children that I know of, but I couldn’t help thinking, “JUST DRAG HIS @SS IN!! HE’S NINE YEARS OLD!!!”

…followed immediately by–

“My car ran out of gas. I’m just a block away from a gas station. Should I push the car to the gas station, or just walk over there and get more gas?”

“Ma’am, I can’t make that decision for you.”

“But will my car be alright?”

–Nothing is certain in this world.


The city is cutting government spending by reducing our allocation of paper products out at dispatch. Henceforth, everyone has to bring in their own damn paper towels. I do not blame the current administration. I blame the people who voted for property tax caps.


While reading “1984,” it is unsettling to realize that I would have enjoyed doing Winston Smith’s job, and would probably have been good at it.