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An American icon beheaded — by me

Whatever I may accomplish in my career with McLeod Publishing, I suspect my co-workers will always remember me as the person who beheaded an American icon.
We have two candy machines on our front counter. The candy is supposed to be for any child who comes in while mom or dad is renewing their subscription or placing an ad, but the reality is that the employees are constantly hovering around them.
One machine is a giant bubble with a motion-activated sensor. Wave your hand under the spout and candy will plop into it.
The other machine is similar, but to access the candy you have to turn a teeny-tiny crank, which has a miniature Mickey Mouse attached to it.
One day as I was cranking the handle to get some M&Ms, I snapped Mickey’s head off. It rolled on the counter. I tried to hide my misdeed by putting his head back on, but to no avail. It just kept rolling off.
I quickly became known as the person who murdered Mickey.
Our receptionist, Trisha, transferred a call to my phone later in the day, cheerfully announcing on the intercom that I had a call on line one. That was followed by a murmured “Mickey murderer.”
Our sports guru, Josh Randt, can impersonate Mickey’s voice with such spot-on accuracy that it’s eerie. He tortured me with Mickey comments most of the day.
I overheard one of our salespeople muttering about issues with her e-mail, followed by the comment, “Nothing has gone right around here since Lori knocked Mickey’s head off.”
“I said I was sorry!” I yelled from my desk.
I play Words With Friends with Trisha, and was particularly proud the next day when I took advantage of both a triple letter and a triple word score to tally up 72 points with the word “farted.”
Of course, I had to brag about it.
“Was that as much fun for you as snapping the head off Mickey?” she asked. Trisha always claimed she spoke “Sarcastic” fluently, and I can see why.
The comments have subsided in the couple of weeks since the incident, or accident, or whatever you want to call it.
But Mickey’s head still lies on the front counter. I swear his eyes follow me accusingly every time I walk in or out the front door.
Maybe I’ll just use the back door and walk around the building. I need the exercise, anyway, and it will keep me away from the candy. And Mickey’s head.