A woman rushed into our office elevator and yelled, “Twenty-fifth floor! Quick!”

“There are only sixteen floors.”

“That can't be right. This is the First National Bank, isn't it?”

“No, it's an office building.”

“On Madison Avenue?”

“No. This is Pine Street.”

She stared at her paperwork, then looked up with genuine hope.

“Okay… but we're still in Chicago, right?”

“Made it through another shift without strangling a customer.”

“Remember the sacred rule of retail: leave no customer emotionally untraumatized.”

“Is that in the employee handbook?”

“No. It's in the employee support group.”

Our office manager sent an email to the whole company: “Whoever keeps stealing my yogurt from the fridge, I know who you are.”

Ten minutes later a second email from her: “Please ignore the previous message.”

Ten minutes after that, a reply-all from the CFO: “Sorry, Linda. It was really good yogurt.”

He brought her a whole case the next morning. Best email chain of the year.

“I just burned my hand on the soldering iron. Son of a—”

“Try replacing swear words with something wholesome. Like cupcake, sunshine, or daisy.”

“CUPCAKE! SUNSHINE! I RUINED THE CIRCUIT BOARD!”

I'm a firefighter. We got a call that an apartment was on fire, so we kicked in the door, broke windows, and put the whole thing out. By the time we finished, the place was wrecked.

On our way out, we heard splashing in the bathroom. We forced the door open and found a guy soaking in the tub, completely out of it, having a conversation with a fleet of rubber ducks.

He stared at us. We stared at him.

He wrapped himself in a towel, stepped out, surveyed the blackened walls and ruined furniture, and said:

“Unbelievable. You guys trashed the place.”