I went with Schwarz, because I thought it my professorish duty.
But it really wasn’t. At least, I don’t think it was. But we can’t be sure.
Schwarz Tauptinker and I were shown into a rather nice, nautical looking office.
And then, we did what we were supposed to do: we sat, and waited.
Around a half-hour later (we were both getting rather cranky) this old fellow came in and sat across from us. He had so many shiny gadgets on his shirt (coat), that it was quite impossible to see the shirt. But I could tell: the shirt didn’t fit him too well. (That’s not supposed to be a rhyme.)
“So,” he said, “we need a commodore for our fleet.”
“How many ships have you in the fleet?” I asked.
The brute turned to me. “Was I talking to you? I don’t think so. In fact, now that I think about it, why are you even here?”
“‘Cause I said so!” Schwarz shouted–almost.
That jolted the brute, and he turned back to Schwarz. “We have 3 ships in our fleet. And we need a commodore. Now, be warned, you’ll be the fiftieth person we’ve interviewed for this job.”
“Don’t see why I should care,” Schwarz remarked.
And he did have a point, I’d say.
The brute sort of bristled. “That means there’s a lot of competition for this job!”
“Yeah,” Schwarz answered, “but it’s not like I have to go through all the applicants. That’s your job.”
I think Schwarz had a point again.
The brute was about to say something else, when Daddy Salami came in, dressed like an Admiral.
He stared at the brute for a second or two, before screaming out, “What ya doing here, cur-sauce-noodle-brain!”
The brute stood up and took off his shirt (or coat) with all the buttons on it. It obviously wasn’t his.
“I was…I didn’t…I didn’t mean to do it! I mean, I was just having a bit of fun!”
“Get out of here,” Salami said, “before I decide to feed you to me pet barracuda!”
The brute was gone.
“Now,” Salami said as he sat. “Welcome, Commodore Schwarz Tauptinker.”