Mogey and Smush had been working as snailers for two weeks. It was a good job: the pay was fair, they got to work outdoors, and the foreman sang selections from Sweating to the Oldies all the live long day.
One day, as it came time for lunch, the men assembled in front of a large tureen on the back of the wagon to receive their daily rations.
"Snail chowder?" the foreman offered when Mogey's turn came round.
"Snail chowder!" Mogey shrieked girlishly. "You don't meant to tell me that all these snails we've been gathering are for eatin, do you?"
"Liver n' henfeathers, Mogey," Smush muttered behind him. "Of all the things to say...."
"Well of course they're for eatin, lad," the foreman said. "What'd you think they was for?"
"I always thought people brought the snails into work with them, because they're so slow, see?" Mogey stated matter-of-factly. "That way they look like they're working harder by comparison. Sort of like what we do with Chubby Eddy over there."
"Phew," Chubby Eddy said, mopping his brow as he finally returned from his 10 AM coffee break. "What a day, what a day, what a day."
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