Mystery Box by Eightball Slim

The box arrived and I signed it off to the UPS man, not even paying attention to who or what had sent it to me. I was in a hurry because I was running late for work and the boss would have my hide, consdidering it would be the third time this week. I tossed the box on the chair next to the coat rack in the hallway and darted to the already-running shower, as the box slipped further and further from my mind. I really need to refrain from the booze every night, iIthought as I do every time I'm late due to a hangover. Dispatching to hungover messengers leads to arguments.

My boss was waiting in the already chaotic establishment I call "work." "Slim, you son of a bitch!" he bellowed, as cigar smoke filtered through his nose and mouth like the whistle of an old locomotive. "This is the third time this week. Lay off the goddamned sauce or next time I'll have your hide!"

Well, at least he didn't fire me on the spot. I crawled along slowly like a crippled insect all day until it was finally time to go home. The first thing I saw when I entred my house was the box. Scattered thoughts pounded my already pounding head. Was it from my father? That wasn't logical at all. He was probably down at Joe's Corner with his snoot full and probably didn't even remember he had a 25-year-old son. Was it from Mom? Hell no, she was too busy tavelling cross-country with Billy Bob, her newfound truck driving lover. Grandpa? Hell no, he's in a loony bin and thinks he's twelve years old and spits his food at anyone who attempts to feed him.

I decided to pry deeper into the situation and just open the fuckin' thing. When I picked it up it wasn't really heavy and I realized there was a peculiar noise belching forth from inside the box. It was ticking. HA! HA! I thought. Some unknown enemy has sent me a bomb. I shook the box hard and it didn't explode. I laughed aloud as I looked at the name scribbled in the side of the box. To my amazement it was from my boss and had no return address.

"Strange," I whispered to myself. He hadn't mentioned it at work today. Oh well, I'll just open it and see what the fat bastard sent to me. I grabbed a knife and cut the top open. On top of all the balled-up newspaper was a note that read, "I should of had your hide a long time ago. HA HA ­ Your Boss."

I began digging through the soiled and cigar-smelling paper and produced an alarm clock with bells that could wake the dead. "Wants to make sure I'm at work on time," I mumbled wth a grin. I dug deeper into the box and discovered a full bottle of Caption Morgan Rum, one of my all time favorite drinks.

The boss does have a heart, I thought joyously. I sat back in a chair listening and admiring the clock as it ticked rather loudly on the table in front of me. I uncaringly began scratching the lid off the bottle, tilted my head back for that first sip, and the world blew to shreds.