Today we write about something (or someone?) that is: restricted.
Here's another picture from yesterday's outing, before I forget to include it:
They're calling for an honest to goodness sunny day tomorrow, so I'm hoping to take advantage of it with a little photo expedition. I'll let you know how that turns out.
Mine:
Floyd's first day on the job had been an uneventful one. Brief, awkward introductions to his new coworkers, a coma-inducing orientation session that held most of his morning hostage.
Lunch in the cafeteria was a clear highlight, as he managed to convince himself that the cute girl at the soup station gave him a much more genuine smile than those she bestowed on anyone else in the line. No need to mention that to his nervous wife when he returned home, though.
His afternoon was filled by a rather lengthy tour of the building. Floyd didn't pay much attention to any of it - up until he was shown the double doors on the fifth floor that were marked Restricted Access.
"What's in there?"
"You don't need to know that," his guide replied, her previous warm demeanor vanishing like the sun behind unexpected rain clouds. "You just need to know that you're never to enter that area."
"Oh, okay," Floyd said, immediately deciding to find out what went on behind those doors as soon as possible.
Three weeks passed by before he found an opportunity to slip inside, taking advantage of a senior employee who had not noticed Floyd lurking in the shadows.
Unfortunately for Floyd the security cameras were not so lax. Uniformed guards began their search soon afterward and performed their duties in their usual, brutal fashion.
Poor Floyd has not been the same since.
