The limping intruder who snuck into the Company

Can a limping man bypass all police checks and slip into a large company in broad daylight without anyone noticing? Well, yes—and I witnessed it firsthand. Here’s the story…

The company I worked for occupied a seven-story building, part of a complex of five buildings accessible only through a main entrance guarded by security personnel. Once past that checkpoint, you had to cross a large central courtyard to reach our building, where another entry control awaited: receptionists and turnstiles regulating access to the various floors. In total, just over 100 people worked there.

One of our regular suppliers was a familiar figure who visited to pitch his services—mainly book editing. He was an old legend in the pharmaceutical industry, a man with decades of experience working with labs, widely recognized whether they’d hired him or not. Most suppliers called ahead to schedule appointments, but not him. Leveraging his advanced age and industry fame, he’d show up unannounced. Out of courtesy to such a unique character, we’d usually squeeze him in. If one person couldn’t meet him, he’d be passed to someone else—and so on. He never left empty-handed; his impromptu visits always secured him an audience.

One day, we were informed that a fire and evacuation drill would take place that morning across all five buildings in the business park. At a certain point, the alarm blared, and we all promptly abandoned our desks, descending the stairs quickly and orderly to join the employees from the other buildings in the central courtyard. While we stood there, the drill team inspected the premises to ensure everything ran smoothly—that the buildings were evacuated in minutes and no one remained inside.

After a while, the drill concluded, and we returned to our offices. Imagine our shock when we found this supplier on the seventh floor, calmly sitting in an empty office, waiting for someone to show up! And here’s the kicker: he had a cast on one leg and was hobbling around with a crutch! Somehow, this limping supplier—who’d recently broken his leg—had:
Bypassed the main entrance controls (had security spotted him, they’d have told him entry was barred due to the drill).
 
Crossed the central courtyard—unseen—where over 100 of us, plus employees from the other buildings, were gathered.
 
Skipped the reception check at our building, since the receptionists were also part of the drill.
 
Passed the turnstiles and taken the elevator to the seventh floor, all without being noticed—not even by the team ensuring the buildings were empty.

When we arrived, both he and we wore looks of astonishment. We were baffled by how he’d pulled it off, and he was puzzled by the empty office. When we asked how he’d gotten there, he replied nonchalantly, “Well, I didn’t see anyone, so I came up here to find you.”

As a secret agent, he’d have been priceless. The Invisible Man—or rather, the Invisible Limper!
 

A journey through the history of the pharmaceutical industry and one of its great laboratories that had its origins in Alfred Nobel...
“From Alfred Nobel to AstraZeneca” (Vicente Fisac, Amazon) is available in e-Book and print editions: https://a.co/d/9svRTuI

"This food is crap": A "brown" humor anecdote

Surely, at some point, you’ve wrinkled your nose at a dish served to you and muttered, “This food is crap.” But have you ever stopped to think that crap can actually be food? No, I’m not talking about bacteria, flies, or other insects. This story is real, and I’m telling it just as it was told to me…

Luis García was a coworker who loved traveling to exotic countries. On one occasion, he shared some hilarious anecdotes from a trip to India. He and his group visited a small village where the humble locals welcomed them warmly. But then, Luis suddenly felt an urgent need to use the bathroom. The bathroom? What bathroom? They were in a remote spot with just a few huts in the middle of the jungle. How did people manage their urgent needs there?
 
After explaining—more with gestures than in English—what he required, the villagers directed him to climb a small tower where a shack was perched, supposedly for doing his business. Luis found it odd to have a toilet several meters above the ground, but necessity trumped curiosity, so he climbed the ladder to the tiny shack at the top. Inside, there was nothing but a hole in the floor, presumably for his waste. He peered through the hole and saw only bare ground below—no pile of excrement, which puzzled him. If people used this spot regularly, shouldn’t there be something down there? For a moment, he wondered if they were playing a prank on him, but with no time to hold it in and demand answers, he decided to proceed. At least the shack offered some privacy. So, he dropped his pants and underwear, aimed at the hole, and got to work.
 
Barely had the first “sausage” dropped when a commotion erupted below—running, shouting, grunting. He had no idea what was happening down there, but finishing his business took priority. He hurried through it, stepped out of the shack, and started down the ladder—only to freeze halfway at the sight below: several pigs were scrambling and fighting over the “sausages” he’d just released. In that hungry region, even human waste was a delicacy to the pigs. Later, they explained that the shack was placed high up precisely to keep the pigs from charging at you the moment you dropped your pants. Luis was so stunned that, for days afterward, he kept glancing around nervously every time he used the bathroom—even in a city hotel room—half-expecting a pig to pop up nearby.
 

A journey through the history of the pharmaceutical industry and one of its great laboratories that had its origins in Alfred Nobel...
“From Alfred Nobel to AstraZeneca”: https://a.co/d/9svRTuI