Shaloon & Grom
Grom
You know, every time I patrol the gate I spot something that could make a good story—like the time a goat tried to sneak in with a bag of gold. Have you heard any good ones lately?
Shaloon
Ah, the gate’s a goldmine of shenanigans, eh? I once watched a delivery truck pull up, only to find a raccoon wearing a tiny tuxedo, juggling a handful of rubber ducks. The driver was so flustered he ended up ordering a pizza on the spot, while the raccoon strutted away like it owned the place. Guess the raccoon wanted to upgrade from “king of the trash can” to “king of the parking lot,” but the pizza’s the real MVP. What about you, got any goat‑or‑moustache stories lately?
Grom
Got a good one. Yesterday I was on my usual perimeter sweep, eyes on the fence, when I spotted a goat that had slipped into the supply closet. The goat had a tiny, knitted mustache—yeah, a mustache, not a beard—tucked into the hat the clerk had forgotten to put on. It was munching on a roll of duct tape like it was a gourmet pastry. I made a note in my log: goat, mustache, duct tape, no escape. The clerk didn’t see it until after the gate was shut and the goat had already taken a shortcut through the trash chute. Good times, but I’ll be tightening that gate tonight.