Beatrix strode over to Barry with a strange smile spreading across her lips. She
grabbed him by the testes and put her face so close to his he could see that she had a
better moustache than him.
Speaking through gritted teeth, she said: ‘Don’t ever rob dishes off my pile
again, and keep your opinions on old fogies to yourself, unless you want these peasized balls removed.’
‘Hello, I’m ringing about the job of Apple Picker I saw advertised in the local paper,’
said Barry.
‘Okay, well have you ever picked before?’
‘Erm—no…’
‘Oh, I’m really sorry but we can’t take on any new trainees. We’re only
looking at experienced candidates at the moment.’
‘It’s just picking apples off a tree isn’t it? I mean what training do you need
for that?’
‘No no kid, there’s a lot more to it than that: they have to be placed in a box as
well.’
‘Okay, thanks anyway.’
Barry hung up the phone and then placed his face in his hands.
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