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Presently viewing...   How the Executive Lost His Classy Kicks
Audience: General    Humor Rating: 1 1 1 1    Category: Work/School    Type: Stories
CLICK TO E-MAIL One day an extremely well-dressed and successful executive was driving to a meeting when he found that the front left tire on his Porsche was flat.

"What am I going to do?" he thought. But then he saw a gas station up ahead. It was a rundown shack with a grizzled man in overalls sitting on a porch with pools of oil, but at least it was a gas station; in the window was a large sign saying 'help wanted'. The executive drove up and got out of the car and explained the situation.

"Why sure!" said the mechanic "I'm lookin' for a boy to work for me and help me out, so we're kinda short-handed". He looked over the dapper, dignified and impeccably dressed executive's very expensive navy blue pinstriped business suit, his imported silk tie and gleaming cuff links and white shirt, his polished black shoes, his hundred dollar haircut and his $1500 briefcase.

"My name is Bud. You must be one of them executives!" said the mechanic. "I can tell by your classy kicks!"

"My WHAT?" snapped the exec.

"Your KICKS! Your SHOES! Mighty classy, sir!" grinned the mechanic.

"Yes. Well, the FIRST thing people notice are your shoes!" said the executive in a condescending tone, as he straightened his tie and checked the shine on his shoes. "My name is Mr. James Porter. I am making an important presentation today! My whole career depends on it. Now please get to work! What are you doing?!"

Bud was pulling out a huge pail of water. "You get a free car wash today, sir! I sure wish I had a boy to work for me - I gotta do this all myself! Do YOU know somebody to work here for me?"

"Of course not. Do I LOOK like someone who would know a GREASE MONKEY? And I don't have time for a car wash!" cried Mr. Porter.

"Now, don't worry! You upper class folks are always worryin'!" And at that moment, Bud's foot hit the pail of water, and it toppled over, completely soaking Mr. Porter's expensively shod feet.

"NOW LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE!!" yelled Mr. Porter. "My feet are DRENCHED through! SOAKED! Do you know how much these shoes cost! Someone like YOU doesn't have to worry about this!"

"Oh, sir! Please accept my apology! All over your fancy high class kicks! Well, it's a fine day, just take off yer shoes and socks and let 'em dry! They look look they're too tight, anyway! That's why you're so bad tempered. Tight shoes will do it every time. Nobody is gonna see ya, sir!"

"Take off my shoes and socks! They're not too tight! They were handmade for me. I suppose I have no choice! I'm just glad that my colleagues can't see this!" said Mr. Porter, as he sat on the porch and slowly untied and grudgingly slid his feet out of his highly polished black Ferragamo shoes and then peeled off his silk business socks. Bud picked up the shoes and whistled with admiration.

"Mighty fancy!" he said, with a grin. "EYETALIAN! FERRY-GAMO! Too bad they're so tight! And them socks sure are fancy, too! Real classy! Ya know, you're startin' to look like you belong here now that yer barefoot!"

"Put my shoes down immediately! How dare you put your filthy hands on them! I will NEVER look like I BELONG here! I feel ridiculous..." said Mr. Porter coldly.

Mr. Porter carefully arranged his suit and tie as if to make up for the indignity of going barefoot.

"Lemme show ya somethin', Mister Porter, sir" said Bud, who got into the car and drove it forward and ran over Mr. Porter's briefcase, ruining it.

"MY BRIEFCASE!" yelled the businessman.

"Sorry, sir! But I have to tell ya something!" said Bud, who was bending over the engine.

"I didn't ask you to look at the engine" shouted Mr. Porter. "You destroyed my briefcase!! All my papers..."

"But you got a problem!" said Bud. "Look! Get closer!"

Mr. Porter leaned over the engine. "I don't see anything?"

"Closer!" said Bud.

"I still don't," and Mr. Porter began to lift his head, and felt himself stuck.

"My tie!" he yelled. "My necktie and my suspenders! They're caught in the engine!"

"Look what ya done, sir! I'll get ya free!"

"I DIDN'T DO THIS!" yelled Mr. Porter, but he couldn't move at all. His tie and his suspenders had gotten tied up in the engine. Somehow.

"Now just hold still!? said Bud, and in a moment, Mr. Porter was free, and his tie and suspenders were in Bud's hands.

"ARE YOU INSANE?!" yelled Mr. Porter. "You took those off me. Give me those."

"Mr. Porter" said Bud, ignoring the comment. "I'm gonna need yer help in getting that tire out of the back, and then you gotta help me get the new one - it's underneath an old engine. I can't lift 'em, ya see. I got lumbago. It's too bad I ain't got a boy to work for me!"

"What?!" said Mr. Porter. "You expect ME to do it? Look at this suit! This is a two thousand dollar suit! It was tailored for me. I can't get it dirty, and that is a silk tie! And a hundred dollar shirt! I'm an executive. I don't do menial work."

"I'm sorry, sir," said Bud. "There's no other way! I know! Why don't ya take off yer nice suit? I got a fine pair of overalls for ya!"

"This is an outrage!" cried Mr. Porter. "I will NOT take off my business suit! I have my dignity and my pride!"

"Then you'll have yer dignity and yer pride but you won't get a new tire" said Bud. "Just trade that pretty suit for these overalls!"

Mr. Porter stomped and fumed but finally gave in and angrily stripped off his pinstriped business suit, his cufflinks and his starched white shirt and placed them on a wooden table. Then he put on the greasy overalls and pulled the tire out of the trunk.

But just then his bare feet hit a patch of oil, and he staggered backwards and fell; the filthy tire fell on top of him. He felt his head hit something soft. Bud ran over and said: "Mr. Porter, it's a good thing your head hit the tar! It broke yer fall!"

The executive pushed the tire off, and felt the grease, gravel and tar all over his t-shirt and his face. He lifted what had been a manicured hand to his head and felt a mass of something gooey.

"My hair!" Mr. Porter yelled, as he stood.

"I gotta cut that tar out, sir! It ain't gonna come out any other way!" and he pulled out some scissors and with a few quick snips, the executive's thick head of hair was replaced by a patchy crewcut.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" yelled Mr. Porter. "MY HAIR!"

"Here, this will calm ya down!" Bud shoved a bottle of whiskey into Mr. Porter's hand and poured some of it on his shirt.

"NO!" yelled the executive. "LOOK AT ME, YOU IDIOT!"

"Leave me alone! Help, police!" screamed Bud. He grabbed Mr. Porter's cell phone and called the police and then called the local newspaper.

In a moment the police were there.

Bud whimpered: "This man is drunk! Just smell him, officer! And tried to beat me up! and rob the till!"

"I DID NOT!" shouted Mr. Porter.

"Assault, robbery, disorderly conduct, resisting arrest, drunkenness... you're coming with me!"

And the policeman dragged the struggling Mr. Porter, barefoot in overalls off to jail.

The next day the judge prepared to sentence Mr. Porter while they all looked at the newspaper with the headline: Drunk Thief Jailed for Assault and Robbery. James had been fired from his job and his lawyer refused to see him.

But Bud said; "Your honor, don't put this man behind bars! He ATTACKED me, but, I'll allow him to make it up to me - I got an idea!"

"What do you mean?" yelled Mr. Porter. "I.... I am a CORPORATE EXECUTIVE!"

A month later, a customer drove up to Bud's and Bud called his new assistant to wait on him. A man in overalls and work boots and a crew cut came out, covered with grime, and started to work on the car.

"JIMMY BOY! Don't forget the oil! You ex-cons are always slow!"

"YES, SIR!" said Jimmy-boy Porter.

A Porsche with a "for sale" sign sat outside.

A help wanted sign lay in the garbage.

In the window was an Italian pinstriped business suit, a silk tie, a white shirt, a pair of suspenders and a pair of cuff links with the initials JP with a "for sale" sign.

"Don't forget what I told ya!" snapped Bud. "Did you polish 'em up?"

"Yes, but, please..." said Jimmy-boy. "These are my shoes! You want me to sell my own shoes?"

"You don't need 'em anymore! Ex-con grease monkeys don't wear purty-boy EYETALIAN SHOES! I'm your boss...NOW MOVE IT! Remember how much I got when I sold your wrist watch?" yelled Bud.

"You sold it for only $50!" cried Jimmy-boy. "And you kept the money!"

"Of course I did! And I got a good deal when I made you sell your fancy sports car!" snapped Bud.

"My Porsche! You made me sell it for only a thousand dollars for scrap!" yelled Jimmy-boy.

"Well, it wasn't your car anymore, was it boy? I got you a job and a shack to live in! You'd be coolin' yer heels in jail if it wasn't fer me!" said Bud.

"But I'm innocent! You KNOW that!" said Jimmy-boy.

"Now don't go on like that! Or you'll be back behind bars! And it's only right for me to keep the car and the watch and all those fine, fancy clothes you were wearin' when you got here. And remember? You ain't some high and mighty executive anymore! You gotta talk like ME! And call me SIR!" shouted Bud.

"Yes, sir..." Jimmy-boy sighed and went up to the customer.

"Sir, my name is Mister James Por...I mean Jimmy-boy. We got a special today - with an oil change, you can buy these real cheap."

He held up a pair of very expensive polished gentleman's business shoes.

"These are for sale. One pair of Ferragamo shoes - once worn by a former executive who - who doesn't need 'em anymore. Best offer, silk socks included."

Bud said: "Go on!"

Jimmy-boy sighed and said: "After all, the first thing people notice are your shoes. Real classy kicks..."




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