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Topic: Business
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Bob Maar
(Maar stands for Maartini)

Posts: 28608
From: New York City & Newport, RI
Registered: Feb 2001
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posted 12-31-2004 05:36 PM
Rated G Malcom in York
I was working in a scrap yard in Southern England during summer vacation at an engineering university. I used to work repairing construction equipment.
One afternoon, I was taking apart a piling hammer that had some very large bolts holding it together. One of the nuts had corroded on to the bolt; to free it, I started heating the nut with an oxy-acetylene torch.
As I was doing this, one of the dimmest apprentices I have ever known came along. He asked me what I was doing. I patiently explained that if I heated the nut, it would grow larger and release its grip on the bolt so I could then remove it.
"So things get larger when they get hot, do they?" he asked.
Suddenly, an idea flashed into my mind (I know not from where.)
"Yes," I said, "that's why days are longer in summer and shorter in winter."
There was a long pause, then his face cleared.
"You know, I always wondered about that," he said.
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Bob Maar
(Maar stands for Maartini)

Posts: 28608
From: New York City & Newport, RI
Registered: Feb 2001
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posted 01-10-2005 11:26 AM
Rated G Michele
When I had a job at the photo-developing counter of a pharmacy, the film was sometimes developed incorrectly. If this occurred, we did not charge our customers. Once a man came to pick up his pictures, which were marked $0.00, indicating that not one of them had turned out right.
The customer asked to see the photos, and when I noticed the odd splotches of color all over the pictures, I apologized profusely. "Oh, no, these are fine," he said happily. "I'm a microbiologist, and these are my bacteria cultures."
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Bob Maar
(Maar stands for Maartini)

Posts: 28608
From: New York City & Newport, RI
Registered: Feb 2001
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posted 01-13-2005 01:45 PM
Rated G Michele
The time was in the early hours of a new day; the place was the lobby of a hotel; the principal character was a well-dressed gentleman in an alcoholic fog, who had come in and registered for the night a few minutes earlier. Now, half dressed, he descended the stairway from the second floor and stood swaying slightly in front of the desk.
"Mish' Night Clerk," he said politely but thickly, "I'll 'ave requesh you gimme 'nozzer room."
"Well, sir," stated the clerk, "we're a little bit crowded. I don't know whether I could shift you immediately. It's pretty late, you know."
"Mish' Night Clerk," said the guest in a courteous but firm voice, "I repeat - mush gimme 'nozzer room."
"Isn't the room I gave you comfortable?" parleyed the functionary.
"Sheems be perf'y so," admitted the transient. "Nev'less, mush ash be moved 'mediately."
"Well, what's the matter with your room?" demanded the pestered clerk.
The stranger bent forward, and with the air of one imparting a secret addressed the clerk in a husky half whisper:
"If you mush know, my room's on fire!"
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