Harry's Tales: Sponging
Harry Wroth reveals himelf as a practical joker.
I was an oil company salesman. My last call before lunch was to a large international rubber foam mattress factory. While in the plant I collected, with permission, about a dozen-and-a-half waste extrusions. When they baked a mattress slab of foam rubber the mix would expand like a cake in an oven. Around the sides of the mould, through holes would appear these toasted scone-like objects. To the uninitiated they appeared to be real McCoy scones.
I arrived at my company office just before lunchtime and went to the little kitchen. I neatly arranged six "scones" on a doily on a serving plate and asked the elderly messenger to take the "scones" to Miss Smith, our middle-aged typist. I I watched through a crack in the door.
"Thank you," said Miss Smith as Solomon handed the plate to her. "And who sent these scones?" My name was mentioned by Solomon.
I could hardly keep quiet. The tension was electric.
She picked up a "scone" and bit. Her false teeth, not expecting to encounter foam rubber, took off to the desk top.
Solomon turned white as a sheet as he witnessed the scene of comic chaos.
Miss Smith replaced her teeth and Solomon rearranged the scones on the plate and emerged from her office with it,somewhat nonplussed. Further along the passageway I relieved Solomon of the plate.
Coming out of the lift was Pat Henderson, our accountant. I offered him the plate of scones. His false teeth also wobbled but did not fall to the floor. He knocked the plate of scones from my hand. We had bouncing scones all around us.
Solomon stood agape.
