The name is Brenna. The place is the kitchen of Last Frontier Brewery. The situation? Angry chef.
Chef: "I want to know who was responsible for mopping this floor last night!"
Me: *nervously stops chopping onion* "Um, uh, t-t-that would be m-m-me chef."
Chef: *anticipation of bitching someone out obviously deflates* "Oh, well since you would have to jump up and down on the mop bucket to wring the water out, and the mop handle is roughly 20 feet taller than you, I guess that explains it. Everyone! Until Brenna has a growth spurt or starts taking steroids, she is officially on permanent sweep duty."
Fantastic. Universally recognized hobbit doesn't have to risk potential drowning in the 1/2 inch of mop water on the floor.
Can I just park in the handicapped place already?
Chef: "I want to know who was responsible for mopping this floor last night!"
Me: *nervously stops chopping onion* "Um, uh, t-t-that would be m-m-me chef."
Chef: *anticipation of bitching someone out obviously deflates* "Oh, well since you would have to jump up and down on the mop bucket to wring the water out, and the mop handle is roughly 20 feet taller than you, I guess that explains it. Everyone! Until Brenna has a growth spurt or starts taking steroids, she is officially on permanent sweep duty."
Fantastic. Universally recognized hobbit doesn't have to risk potential drowning in the 1/2 inch of mop water on the floor.
Can I just park in the handicapped place already?
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