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Stand-up Saturdays
Once upon a modern morning, in a cozy little kitchen, Harold, a sprightly gentleman of considerable years, found himself in a rather “toasty” predicament. Harold, who had never been late a day in his life, was about to have his punctuality put to the test.
It all began with a craving for a perfectly browned slice of bread, a simple pleasure that heralded the start of his day. With his trusty toaster set to a precise level of crispness, Harold inserted his bread and waited for the magic to happen. But as the minutes ticked by, there was no pop, no delightful scent of toasted grains—only silence.
Growing impatient, Harold peered into the toaster, only to find his breakfast stubbornly clinging to the heating elements. Without a moment’s hesitation, he reached in, determined to rescue his captive cuisine. That’s when disaster struck. His hand, adorned with a rather fetching wristwatch, became ensnared in the toaster’s treacherous grip.
Panic set in as Harold tugged and twisted, but the toaster was unyielding. The clock was ticking, and with each passing second, his punctuality was slipping away. He envisioned the raised eyebrows and stifled snickers of his colleagues at his inevitable tardiness. In a moment of desperation, he glanced around the kitchen. Spotting a stick of butter on the counter, an idea sparked in his mind.
With a battle cry that would have surprised even himself, Harold grabbed the butter and began strategically applying it to the toaster’s insides, hoping to grease the escape route for his hand. He imagined the metallic innards of the toaster becoming slick under the buttery onslaught, weakening its hold.
As he worked the butter in, he let out a mighty heave. This time, to his immense relief, his hand slipped free, leaving a trail of greasy evidence on its wake. He glanced at the clock, sighed, and accepted his fate. Today, he would be late for work.
But as he walked through the door of his office, a surprising sight awaited him. His colleagues, upon hearing of his ordeal through the office grapevine, had gathered to celebrate his arrival with a standing ovation and, ironically, a breakfast buffet featuring an array of perfectly toasted bread.
Harold took his seat, chuckling to himself. For once, being late didn’t seem so bad. After all, he had a new story to tell—a tale of time, toast, and tribulation. And from that day forward, he made sure to keep a pair of tongs handy, just in case his toaster had any more tricks up its sleeve.
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