The Great Belt Theft of '06

A long, long time ago, back when even The Former 786 was a young[er] pup, there was the Control Room, jes' spittin' distance from the front doors of the liberry. Back behind these doors, Security folks was free to roam around and chew the fat and heat up a Tupperware o' grub iffen they ever got hungry at work.

The goods cupboard was flowin' with earplugs and CAUTION tape and the biggest bottle of Ibuprofen you ever seen (this side of the Mississippi, o' course), and soldered to the side of this cupboard was a hook to hang yer belt on.

These belts were a special kinda belt, you see. Not only were they black and velcro-y and looked like you'd stolen a length o' seatbelt to wrap around your gut, they did things like keepin' yer radio from draggin' yer pants down.

One day, L'Afro came in to work, and there warn't a belt to be found on that hook.

She looked high.

She looked low.

He[ck], she even opened up every blessed locker in the room, lookin' to see iffen someone had squirrelled a belt away in their cubbyhole.

But you see, it didn't happen jes' once. It didn't happen twice.

It happened EVERY BLESSED DAY this week.

So, fer the love o' Mike, cough up one a those belts. Leave 'em on the hook. Don't take 'em home. Or I may get my friend Rooster to hunt you down.