Moral

Anyway, there was this guy - name's not important - quite a big guy,
not vomit-inducingly fat, not even what you'd call jolly, just
middle-aged businessman high blood pressure fat, like you see
everywhere. Helpful guy though. Volunteered to show interns around the
building, which was good of him, considering they were usually
fast-tracked into management while he stayed behind his desk shuffling
staples.

Anyway, he reaches the eighth floor, the one he works on, and he gets
this look in his eye. He's had enough, he's tired, he's sick of his
wife getting drunk and flashing at family do's. He runs towards the
windows, ceiling-to-floor glass, and throws his paunch at them. And
bounces back off. Plexiglass. A thud, but no tinkle, and the interns
usually took it all well, including the five minutes of glorious
backslapping that always followed.

Anyway, one day - date's not important - he gets this look in his eyes
and begins his run. The plexiglass gives way, weakened by years of
abuse. Dead. Fell eight stories, landed on his own Beemer - the interns
probably thought that was part of the act. Some people thought the
whole thing was just a slow motion suicide, in case he changed his mind
halfway through. Actually, the interns were a bit traumatised that
time.

Anyway, health and safety went ballistic, especially after his widow
tried to sue. That's still ongoing, by the way. And we got a day off
for the funeral. I think there's a lesson to be learned from it all
though...

...stop being such an asshole.