We hired a new office employee. She started on Monday. She’s quite cute. About five foot three, twenty-seven years old, short brown hair cute in a bob slanting towards her chin, lovely pouty mouth, big brown eyes and big boobs. She’s one of those rare brunette bimbos. Nice girl and smarter than she first appears.
Each day, she sits with a different employee every few hours, to become acclimated to our environment and learn how each job relates to all of the others. She’s done some computer work, such as entering time card hours in an excel spreadsheet to keep track of operations’ overtime. She’s called some customers to confirm delivery times. She’s seen mega forms and paperwork for our highly regulated business. All in all she’s seen a lot in two days and she keeps smiling. A good sign.
Late this afternoon, she sat with one of our customer service reps, waiting for calls to come in to see the start of a sales transaction, you know, basically waiting for five o’clock to arrive. They chatted, getting to know each other.
Old employee: “This is my MySpace.” (Yeah, we know it goes on. It’s our slow time of the year.)
They look for a while.
Old employee: “Do you have a site?”
New employee: “Yeah, the address is ______.” (I don’t know it. the person telling me this story had a hard time getting it out between hysterical laughter.)
They go to new employee’s MySpace.
New employee is Bi-sexual.
As my husband would say (if his lips weren’t still super-glued together from last night), “That doesn’t make her a bad person. Oh and ah, can you bring her home?”