I once worked for a company that was very interested in the ideas and suggestions of its employees. Every couple of months, the employees would be assembled in the conference room for a brainstorming session. The company felt that since we were the people "in the trenches" that we were the ones who would have the best suggestions on how to improve efficiency. The process worked. Many of the ideas presented in the sessions were implemented and as an added bonus, employees took more pride in the company knowing that it cared about what they thought.

After several years of service, I left that company to work for an employer who was located closer to my home. My job function was basically the same as my former job but my drive to work was only five minutes whereas my previous employment was a forty-five minute drive.

I was encouraged when I found out that my new employer had the same system in place for employee suggestions. Every couple of months, all of the employees would be assembled in the conference room for what we were told would be a brainstorming session. The first meeting I attended started off with the plant manager going over a list of things he thought the employees were doing wrong and he even named a few names. "This is a bit different," I thought as he began giving us a list of new procedures he wanted us to use to increase efficiency.

After his thirty-minute spiel, he opened the floor for our comments and suggestions. The room was silent. "Any suggestions or ideas?" he said again.

"I have a few ideas," I replied. My coworkers all gave me looks of horror and disbelief as I spoke up. I proceeded to give some helpful suggestions as the plant manager took notes. The more I talked, the lower my coworkers sank in their chairs. When I had said all that I had intended to say, the plant manager thanked me for my suggestions and said, "I'll take your suggestions under advisement." I took this to be a positive statement.

After the meeting I was approached by John, one of my fellow employees, who told me that he had been elected by everyone else to be the one to speak to me about my "outburst" during the meeting.

"Outburst? What outburst? I did what the man asked and gave my suggestions."

"He didn't really mean it."

"Why did he ask then?"

"Look, these meetings are for management to complain about what we do. They don't want to hear what we have to say. As a matter of fact, just about everyone who has spoken up in one of those meetings has either been fired or asked to resign."

"That's the craziest thing I've ever heard. He was writing down everything I said and told me he would take my suggestions under advisement."

"He was writing down that you are a troublemaker who is rocking the boat and putting the thought in his employees minds that it's okay to blurt out suggestions in his meeting."

"Okay, I'll take what you said under advisement John but tell me something. Why were you elected to be the one to tell me all this?"

"Nobody wanted to be seen talking to you right after the meeting and they figured I should tell you since I was guilty of doing the same thing once."

John and I talked for a while longer and both agreed that this whole fear of management thing was pretty ridiculous and probably just paranoia on the part of the rest of the employees. Over the next few weeks we started casually asking folks what they thought should be changed in order to boost efficiency. As I suspected, the workers were full of great ideas that could definitely produce positive results.

The next thing John and I had to do was convince these people to communicate their ideas with management during the next meeting. We decided to use a tactic that was already tried and true at the plant; fear.

I was talking to one of the technicians when I brought up the subject of the meetings with the plant manager. "You know, you have got some really good ideas. You should suggest them at the next meeting."

"No way! I'm not going to be branded as a troublemaker."

"How would you be branded as a troublemaker?" I asked.

"The plant manager has a list of names and if you speak out, he puts a check mark next to your name and you are considered a troublemaker from then on."

"Wow. I didn't know that. So I guess he considers me a troublemaker then."

"I guess he does."

"So I guess it doesn't matter if I speak up then."

"I guess not."

"I think in the next meeting that comes up, I'll just tell him that you gave me some great suggestions but you're too afraid to tell him about them."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"What do I have to lose. I'm a troublemaker on his way out right? I think I'll tell him that you told me about his troublemaker list and ask if there is a check mark next to my name."

"Okay! Okay! I'll tell him my suggestions!"

The whole crew started spilling their guts. Suggestions and ideas were flying left and right. The plant manager was writing as fast as he could and would often ask to have something repeated to make sure he was getting everything. Once everyone had a chance to express his or herself, the plant manager said, "It's about time you people gave me some suggestions. I was beginning to think that you folks were dead.

Several weeks passed and my coworkers had already had the chance to discuss what John and I had done. Nobody was mad or upset but they actually thought that what we had done was rather funny. Especially since management had listened to their suggestions and had already implemented many of the ideas. It wasn't until the plant manager approached me one afternoon that I realized just how far my coworkers discussions had reached. "I have a list with everyone's name on it," he said. "It's a list of troublemakers. I have a check mark next to your name. Keep up the good work."

I had painted for the elderly couple several times in the past. The entire interior of their house as well as the trim of their home's exterior had been two of my previous jobs. Now they had called me to give them a bid on water sealing a new gazebo they had built in their backyard. I told them that I would be out to discuss it with them the following day.

I had dealt with a lot of married couples during my time in the painting industry but I had never met a husband as henpecked as the male half of this couple. To meet the man alone was to see an average male, a sports fan, a corporate executive, and a take charge kind of man. However, as soon as his wife spoke, his whole body would jerk and his shoulders would slump as his posture caved in. I truly believe he was terrified of her.

The wife would listen to anyone's advice but her husbands. She was always nice to me and would be talking to me like she was my sweet old grandma one second, then turn around to blast her husband with a shrill in her voice that would put a sonic boom to shame. If their floor had been covered in eggshells, the man could have negotiated his way through the house without any problem at all.

The husband had once asked me to give them a bid on painting their living room ceiling. I told him that the acoustic material on the ceiling looked rather brittle and it would be best if I sprayed it. Using a roller could be disastrous as this type of ceiling had a tendency to stick to a roller and peel off.

He attempted to explain to his wife that I would have to spray paint the ceiling but she just told him he was crazy. "Who told you that? You don't know a thing about painting and don't even try to act like you do. You can be so ignorant sometimes. Try talking about something you know something about or just shut up." He crumpled into a heap on the floor.

I was only about six feet away when she slammed her husband with her barrage of insults. She turned to me and said in her sweetest voice, "You can paint the ceiling with a roller can't you dear?"

"Well no actually. I'll have to spray it because a roller might damage the ceiling."

"Okay honey. Whatever you say. You know what's best," she said with a smile. She left the room failing to apologize to her husband who just happened to have been right.

Now I was back on their property once again. I had looked at the gazebo and was discussing with the husband, the best way to water seal the wood. "My wife thinks that the best way to seal this would be to spray it."

"Well, ordinarily it would be but you do have a nice flower garden surrounding the gazebo. I'm afraid that the over spray from the spray gun might kill your plants. I have a small device called a wienie roller that would probably be better in this situation."

"I've never heard of that. What is a wienie roller?"

"Well, it's also called a hotdog roller and it's called that because it's size and shape resembles a hotdog or wienie. It's a very good roller for getting into corners and tight spaces. It also doesn't produce a lot of over spray. I think a wienie roller would be perfect to use for this project."

He was agreeing with me when his wife walked up. "You aren't making any decisions without me are you?" she said to her husband. At first I thought she was kidding when she made this statement but the expression on her face told me she was serious.

"Well, he began, "we've decided not to spay any sealant on the gazebo."

"What? I thought I told you I wanted it sprayed," she shrieked.

"The painter said he'd just use his wienie on it." I couldn't believe he just said what he did and judging by the silence, I don't think his wife could either.

"What did you just say?" she asked.

"He said he'd use his wienie on it."

"Roller," I thought. Wienie roller. Say 'wienie roller.'"

For a mere second I thought about explaining what he meant but I didn't. I don't know what possessed me to say what I was about to say but I just couldn't help myself. I had to say it. "Well, you did say you wanted me to spray it."

I was escorted from the property.

While at work, I was removing needles from a machine used to make nonwoven fabric. The machine had malfunctioned causing a quarter of the two thousand needles to bend or break. When this happens I remove the bad needles and put them in a box marked, "Caution - Sharp Needles - Handle With Care." It isn't a good practice to just throw the needles in with the ordinary refuse, as they are very sharp and anyone who might attempt to pack down a trash container could be seriously injured. The box is a safeguard to prevent that kind of accident from occurring.

A new employee walked up to me and asked what I was doing. I told him that I was removing bad needles.

He eyed the box full of bent and broken needles before asking, "What do you do with all of the old needles?"

Instantaneously I responded with, "Well, we pack them into piñatas for the children at the orphanage.

I expected a laugh. At the very least I expected a chuckle. Instead what I got was, "Oh. That makes sense." My employee, without batting an eye, turned and walked away.

Pheromones are the natural chemicals found in animals, including humans, that the body uses to attract the opposite sex. Fragrances, such as perfumes, are detected by the Olfactory Glands in the nose, The presence of pheromones are picked up by the vomeronasal organ which is located in the nasal pit directly under the nose. When the vomeronasal organ is triggered by pheromones, it sends a signal to the brain that creates a subconscious increase in desire for persons of the opposite sex.

So why am I telling you about pheromones? Well, I've been getting a lot of junk email lately about miracle pheromone treatments that can help me attract persons of the opposite sex. Honestly, I am happily married and am not interested in attracting anyone to me other than my wife. However, I didn't think that the makers of "Primal Instinct" needed to know this fact when I sent them the following email:

Dear Sir/ Madam,

I recently purchased a bottle of "Primal Instinct," your most popular pheromone product. At first I was rather impressed with the product as I noticed that women were giving me more attention from the very first time I used it. I am in the habit of joining my friends at a popular nightclub on weekends and I was in the habit of always carrying my bottle of "Primal Instinct" with me right up until a most unfortunate incident that occurred last Friday night.

I decided to use a little more than my usual amount of the pheromone product and the night started off well with several women asking me to dance shortly after my arrival at the club. I decided to up the dosage a little more and ventured to the men's room to do just that. Unfortunately, the entrance to the men's room is a bit close to the sink and mirror area and my elbow was bumped by another patron as I was applying a liberal dosage of "Primal Instinct" to my neck region. As a result, the entire contents of the bottle spilled down the front of me.

This is when the nightmare began. I attempted to go from the bathroom to the bar by the straightest path, which just happened to be directly across the dance floor. I reached the midpoint of the dance floor when I noticed what seemed to be an odd glow emanating from all areas around me. It was when I stopped in the middle of the dance floor that I realized that the glow wasn't a glow at all but was the whites of the eyes of seventy-five women. I realize now that I should never have stopped walking.

The ensuing stampede was the most frightening thing I have ever experienced. Women were coming at me from all sides and their intentions were not to ask me to dance. They began ripping my clothes from me and I was just lucky enough to be able to crawl out underneath them as they converged into a tangled mass in the center of the dance floor.

I slipped outside without being detected but the prevailing winds were evidently blowing towards the nearby women's college. As I walked home, I could see the eyes of hundreds of women as they approached me through a forest pathway. As cars would pass and their headlights shone on the woods, it was like looking at a massive heard of deer. I picked up my pace but that only made me sweat, causing me to leave a pheromone vapor trail. It was like a fast motion version of "Night of the Living Dead" except these women weren't interested in my brain. I was able to make it back to my house but the scratching at the door continued for most of the night.

When I purchased your product, it came with a money back guarantee if not completely satisfied. I am dissatisfied but not because your product attracted more women than I had anticipated and its not the fact that I had to explain to my wife why five hundred women were scratching at the door. I'm dissatisfied more or less because of the effects caused by my wife getting a whiff of the pheromone stuff and letting five hundred women into the house.

Please send one half of the refund to Mercy General Hospital. Send the other half to George Garth, my divorce attorney.