Weakling

I file papers for a living. Actually, I go to school so that one day I can maybe make a living, and in the meantime I file papers in my uncle's office so that I can pay my phone bill and buy unnecessary (but necessary!) scraps of fabric from Walmart. When I came into the office this morning, waiting on my desk was an ominous-looking stack of papers. I got straight to work, knowing that this particular stack could take a few hours. Four hours to be exact. The first step in the filing process is to whole-punch all of the papers. We got a new industrial whole-puncher that can punch up to twenty papers at one time which is supposed to be helpful, but due to a recent discovery, whole-punching is not as easy as it seems.

The discovery is thus: I am a weakling.

Well, either that, or this whole-puncher is well...tough. I have to resort to using both hands to punch more than five papers at a time, and since I have to file enormous amounts of paper, I simply can't punch five papers at a time. While getting lost in thought during this monotonous (though strenuous) process, I have often realized that while I'm whole-punching (this is now a verb) I have one eye closed and my lips pursed together and by the end of large stacks of paper I am perspiring slightly. Sometimes I even have to stand up to get the proper amount of leverage to punch through the papers. Oh how grateful I am that no one is watching me while I file papers. Or maybe they do and they just snicker silently to themselves...

Can you say weakling?