“You don’t know where the shredder bins are?” Sandra asked me while I stood in her office with a copy of something I’d written. “Now that I have the revised version—go dump that thing in the shredder bin so that no one plagiarizes it,”

I laughed and let her show me where the bins are located. On our way over I grabbed a stack of faxes I needed while we meandered through the silent, library-like hallowed halls of our corporate legal floor.

“Right here,” she said showing me the gigantic bin with a huge padlock on the front. For which, apparently, there is no key. Unless you want someone to come from San Diego to open it. “Put ANY rights documents you’re getting rid of in here.”

“So I shouldn’t keep going home and posting them on the internet from now on?” I joked. She laughed,

“Yeah, don’t do that.”

I dumped the papers into the bin and then turned to leave. I stopped. Looking at what was in my hand I yelped and dove for the bin:

I’d just tossed in the stack of important, tediously-fed-through-the-machine faxes. My writing was still in my hand.

“OH &^#$&*!” I yelled before I knew what I was doing. I slapped my hand over my mouth as my word echoed through the quiet halls. Sandra was laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe.

Then she wet her pants.

Seriously.

She ran laughing and bent over out of the room and to the bathroom.

“I can’t believe you made me laugh so hard I wet myself,” she said later.

I can’t believe I did either.