So the other day, my coworker got an e-mail from her roommate. They’d had a bomb scare at her office. Someone saw something that looked like a pipe bomb. They saw something, and they said something.
Police, evacuations, bomb squad—oh my!
The deadly cause of all this mayhem? A thermos full of coffee. From my coworker’s roommate: “The bomb squad guy opened it and poured the coffee into a planter. Ha.”
Ah, Boston. First there was Lite Brite Terror, and now the Coffee Bomb.
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6 comments:
Yikes...you Bostonians take that Threat Level Orange bullshit seriously.
Hee hee.
I take it you went straight out and bought a thermos, Sassy?
I went out to get some bread today and my street was cordoned off and the bomb disposal people were in. Nobody bothered to tell those of us sat three floors above the 'bomb'....
I saw a such a bomb in the ladies room of the food court at the North Shore Mall once.
5YOM: "Is it a bomb?"
AM: "No."
5YOM: "What is it, then?"
AM: "A thermos."
5YOM: "Why's there a thermous on
the floor next to the loo, then?"
AM: "Is it ticking?"
5YOM: "No."
AM: "Then it's not a bomb."
5YOM: "The only logical explaination is that it's a bomb. . . ."
AM: "The only logical explaination is that someone needed a little nip."
5YOM: "We should report it just to be safe."
AM: "We're leaving. Then we'll be safe."
I'm still racked with secret guilt over not reporting the Irish coffee bomb.
Oh, how sad. And how embarrassing. Hee hee
It occurs to me that if one hated their job, one could um...just find lots of stuff to get all worked up about. Paper cups. Compacts with strange brownish dust in them...
The ideas are endless.
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