A Full Hour

“You can’t wear that.”

I was aware that I was speaking out of turn. That Gordon was my boss and that I shouldn’t have challenged him. But some situations require you to take a stand. In this instance over the t-shirt he’d had printed and was planning to wear to a pirate-themed event funded by one of our suppliers.

He’d been so pleased when he’d shown me. So proud of his work. The front bore our camera shop’s logo, festooned with clip art cutlasses and Jolly Rogers. On the back he’d listed the photographic services our store offered, tweaked with a pirate theme and written in a quilled font across a foxed, yellowed scroll.

1 hour rape

4 hour murder

24 hour pillage

“You just can’t.” I persisted.

“Why?” he replied, deflated. Worryingly oblivious.

“Because it says you provide rape. For a full hour.”

“Within the hour,” he said briskly. “We print photos within the hour.”

“But this says rape!”

“Oh, everyone will get the joke,” he said. “They have a great sense of humour at these events.” He paused to consider my opinion. “I mean, 24hr rape I’d understand…”

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