: Prepare yourselves for a fantastically mystical adventure filled with suspense, mystery and goblins.
: No.
: What?
: There were no goblins.
: Okay, so just suspense and mystery. Prepare yourselves for...
THE NIGHT OF THE TOWER OF TERROR!
The story begins with me noticing that the fountain machine is completely devoid of syrup for the Dr. Pepper slot. Since no one has actually shown me how to remedy this, I ask my coworker, Areal (because Ariel was too generic, I guess), to run the explanation by me. So we head into the back room and the mystery of the soda fountain bags is revealed to me and Areal leaves to tend to the growing customer count while I handle changing the bags.
: Hey, this doesn't look so hard. Figures that the Dr. Pepper one is at the absolute bottom. Guess I'll just have to move the others out of the way.
Now our store is designed by a retarded monkey, so there's practically no space to move around in the back room between the ice machine, dish sink, mop sink and the steel rack housing the syrup bags for the fountain. With so little storage space, the thing is horribly cramped for a big mass of blackitude such as myself, but regardless, the bags of syrup are stacked on both sides of the rack with two canisters of CO2 sitting next to the boxes on the right. Ever diligent about doing my job right and not getting fired, I go about shifting the boxes on the left into a pile beside me. This is fine and dandy until the foundation of the structure, a crate full of milk, gives way as more and more weight is rested upon it. Suddenly, a trap is sprung!
: I'm going to need a Reflex save from you.
:
: Does...does that work?
: Hmm...I'm thinking...
:
NO! FUCK YOU!My innate half-nigger racial bonus to reflex saves fails to save me and the tower of syrup boxes topples over onto me, sending me falling into the stack of boxes on the right side of the steel rack. With a heavy thud, I bounce off them and land with my back against the entrance to the cooler while the boxes' collective falls are broken by my legs. In particular is the pyramid of power that has formed a barrier around my left knee and ankle. Before I can be lulled into a false sense of security, the trap activates its Pincer Attack trap card, leading to the two CO2 canisters to descend and strike me in the back of the head.
: Toasty!
Fifteen minutes later, I feel to fingers on the side of my neck and a voice telling me to wake up followed by a few shakes to bring me back to the realm of the living. Areal is kneeling in front of me, ready to slap me in the face if I didn't get up. She inquires as to the circumstances that lead to my situation and I explain the devious trap that was devised to doom me temporarily. I'm not worse for wear, save for the terrible pain in my left knee and a lump on the head.
I knew I should've listened to that voice that told me to stay home.
