Welcome To Thursday

Doncha love when your day starts off with a process server?

So, I walk through the doors of the office this morning and a rather nice-looking guy is at the front window talking to Joey. An applicant for the job we're advertising, I think to myself as I brush past.

Joey stops me. "Hey, this is for you."

The guy takes my name and hands me the subpeona. "Thanks," I say.

"Have a nice day," he says before leaving.

At first I scan the thing with dread. What unintentional crime have we committed? Who is suing us and for what? Nuisance or real?

Then, the first thing I notice--we're not even the defendants. We're only being called as a witness. Doesn't even say who, specifically, should appear.

I flip to the pages without all the legal mumbo jumbo--y'know, where it says in plain English what we're expected to provide. Apparently, the case revolves around one Robert Jones who purportedly worked for us...in 1959.

EXCUSE ME? NINETEEN FRIGGIN FIFTY-NINE??

Extrapolating from the questions, the guy didn't even work an entire year. Yet they're asking us to provide the names of his co-workers, his supervisor, and stuff like where did we purchase our compressors that year. Reading between the lines, I detect an asbestos lawsuit. Have to wonder how old it is--after all, if Mr. Jones were still alive, he'd be pretty old by now anyway, wouldn't he? But the suit's in the name of a woman--probably his widow.

Did a small search of the archives--gee, somehow the 1959 files either didn't make the move with us in 1991, or they got tossed long ago. So we can't prove or disprove whether the guy worked here or not, although we know who his supervisor would have been--a guy who died about ten years ago. I mean, who are they kidding? Working adults employed in 1959 are liable to be one of two things--old or dead.

I mean, we're talking almost FIFTY YEARS.