The Supplies Party

My cousin was a classic off-color joke teller. He told me this one racist joke that always made me laugh. I can never totally remember it but it’s something about this Asian guy who’s working somewhere and he jumps out and startles this guy, shouting “Supplies!”

Get it? 'Cause of the “l” “r” confusion.

Ok, I’m racist. Fine, whatever.

I always think of that joke when I come in here. The old beat-up door, covered in dings and chips unveiling the dirty brown board beneath the cheap white paint, even has a sign on it--probably as old as the door judging by the contrast between the color of the paper under the tape and open to the elements--big, hand-drawn block letters: SUPPLIES. The “IE” is written on top of a “Y.” That kind of makes me want to laugh. Someone here--in this office of geniuses--someone tried to spell supplies “supplys.”

Then I don’t want to laugh. That confirms what I’ve always thought: I’m better than this place. I know I could do better. If things were different. If I could get away somehow to just… I don’t know.

It was a train! They were working on a train and each worker had to answer roll call with their position, and that one guy was missing, and he jumped out…

Man, I really gotta quit telling jokes like that.

I just wish things were different. I never really need anything from the supplies closet. You know?