“Look Sean, look what somebody left in the speedbank machine room last night. If nobody claims them I want two for the kids.”
“Hang on, hang on a minute, I’ve just got in the door and already the day is going pear shaped. Nobody is taking any rabbits anywhere until we check the security tape and find out which cretin forgot he was carrying a box of rabbits. Honestly, do all you people here still have lead water pipes or what? How the hell can you forget you are carrying a box of rabbits?”
That lunchtime we avidly checked the security tape. We ran it through twice and at no time did we see anybody bring in six fluffy white bunny rabbits. It was like they had walked into the speedbank room through a rip in the space-time continuum, from a parallel universe where rabbits use cash machines as a matter of course. There was just no other explanation for how they got there.
I tell you what was funny though. It was absolutely hilarious watching a couple of drunks reaction to six little bunny rabbits gambling about their feet while they were trying to use the cash machines at four o’clock in the morning. You could tell they were convinced they had the DT`s. The cleaner was right to be upset about the rabbits. They might have been fluffy and cute but they could shit for England – it was all over the place.
Truly you could make a movie about the stuff captured by our security camera, but that is not the purpose of this book. Its purpose is to educate the novice small business traveler in the ways of a nasty dangerous planet. Go on then, I will tell you one more tale before I move on to describe the next dump I worked at.
This was pure Buster Keaton. We were watching the tape one lunchtime because the cleaners had complained that somebody had superglued a leather jacket to the front of one of the cash dispensers and they could not get it off for love nor money.
At one point in the recording we noticed four or five youths enter the lobby joking around. They didn’t use the machines, but one of them took a small tube from his pocket and spread something all around one of the cash machines. They all laughed like it was the funniest thing ever and left.
Ten minutes later another customer came in, drunk as a soggy mop. It took him about eight attempts to swipe card the door open. When he staggered into the room he was absolutely legless, doing the One-Man Whiskey Tango. You’ve seen it surely. The drunk is totally unable to move his left leg, which appears to be nailed to the floor, while his right leg vainly attempts to make progress forward in a sort of crescent motion. His torso swaying precariously in all directions. The One-Man Whiskey Tango.