At one firm in the 1980s our group occupied cubicles in a row near some windows. I sat in the left end cubicle next to my log-time buddy, Art.
A colleague named Big Bob inhabited a cubicle several cubes toward the building's entrance door.
One day one of my shoes squeaked as I walked.
Big Bob made a remark to Mike, an engineer who lived across the aisle from Big Bob, about some squeaky noise coming from my leg as I walked past his cubicle. Mike was always quick on the uptake and replied that I had a wooden leg and it probably needed oiling around the ankle.
Buddy Art heard this and immediately signaled me with a wink as he dialed Big Bob's phone. I grabbed the sheet of thin cardboard at the bottom of a pad of paper and rolled it , then fitted it into my sock and up my trousers leg. Art kept Big Bob on the phone long enough so I could draw a few hairs on the cardboard. Soon Art hung up on Big Bob.
Big Bob sauntered down to my work area and casually enquired if I had a wooden leg. I lifted up my cuff just an inch or so and tapped on the cardboard. Big Bob went into one of his famous blushing modes and quickly retreated back to his cube, never again asking about body parts.
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