That time that I learned how to speak in Morse code, but only because it's a long story.

I'll never tell the story about the bodies rotting in the old trolley shed behind the Inpost lockers. It happened not too long after I started working for Morrisons, I think it was my fourth or fifth closing shift. Three people burst in just after we closed and tried to rob our store. They had guns but they were no match for us.

Our head of security lamped one of them with a tin of ravioli, tins were bigger in those days. Our head of sales got the other one with an old dot matrix receipt printer. The third one tried to turn tail and run, but our door staff was there, and bored them to death with incessant questions about the weather. It took half a dozen of us to drag the bodies into the trolley shed. We padlocked it, dusted off our hands, and went home.

Of course we then needed somewhere to put the trolleys so we took a couple of old bike frames that'd been dumped outside the store one inexplicable evening, welded them in place as trolley rails just outside the café, and called it good. The punters arrived the next day none the wiser, we'd just relocated the trolleys. Nobody ever questioned the old shed. We stuck a postal locker in front of it and called it good.

The reason I'll never tell that story is I just made it up and it isn't true.

I will tell almost any story, just what stories depends on who's asking /srs

nice try feds /j

nice try FBI