[from an inter-office e-mail, i.e., me being unproductive, i.e., Janelle being bored and asking me to "say something funny."]

I'll tell you a funny story.

So there's this guy, we'll call him...Palermo.

Well, Palermo works at this insurance place. One Saturday he has to go and do a mail run. "No problem," figures Palermo. (He's very easy-going.)

He drives over to work to pick up the mail. But first, he has to switch his car for the large van used for mail runs. "No problem," he figures again.

But then, all of a sudden, there is a problem. The underground parking garage seemed to be closed. Large, metal gates covered the entrances. "Hmm," murmured Palermo. "I guess I'll just park by the front." He did.

Palermo picked up the keys to the van, then took the elevator down to the van which was parked in the underground garage. He got in, started it up, and then drove around looking for a way out. No dice. Every exit was blocked by those damn gates. "Damn," said Palermo. He parked the van and went back up the elevator.

"I guess I'll just use my car, then," Palermo decided.

He got his car and drove to the Post Office. When he asked for the mail, the lady said, "Sure; there's a lot today."

Palermo spent the next 15 minutes trying to cram all the mail into his tiny, tiny car. He succeeded, eventually. For the last few tubs of mail to fit, he had to push his seat up as far is it could go.

His forehead pressed against the sunvisor. His left knee could easily hit the lever that activated the turn signal. The gearshift looked like it was coming out of his right pocket. Palermo had to be careful when he inhaled so that his chest didn't beep the horn.

Palermo hoped that he didn't have an accident. He could picture himself getting hit, causing envelopes to explode everywhere like thick, white confetti.

He made it back to work without incident. He was a little stiff when he got out of the car, but other than that, he was fine. Palermo brought in all the mail, got back into his car, and drove off towards home.

He realized that he could push his seat back to it's original position somewhere on the exit ramp from the 101 freeway to the 60.

The following Monday morning, he drove in to work. The gates of the parking garage were still down. "How odd," he thought. He was about to go look for another spot when another car pulled up to the gate. The driver swiped his security badge. The gate slid smoothly up and the driver drove on through.

Palermo made a mental note to never speak of this incident to anyone, ever.

The End.