It was a day like any other. Or at least, it started that way. He was inside his "office". I was at my desk in the "reception area". If you can call a 5'-8' closet an office. And the "reception area" is even more of a joke. But a girl's gotta eat somehow, right?
We'd been getting calls for awhile, the guy getting more and more insistent. At first, I was able to fend them off on my own, but lately, they've been wearing me down. I'm at the point where I just put them through and let him deal with it. I'm not getting paid enough to deal with this.
So yeah, it was a Thursday. I think. Might've been a Wednesday. I know it definitely wasn't a Friday, he's never here on Friday afternoons, and Tuesday is the day that I go to have my hair & nails done. I think it's a bit much to go every week, but the one time that I didn't go, he mentioned that I was looking a little tired. Tired! You try working 40+ hours a week on peanuts and see how you look, buddy!
He was in the office with a client. It was Thursday. I'm sure now that it was Thursday. (I was lamenting a paper cut, and noticed that I'd chipped the nail polish.) The client was a typical one, blonde, well-dressed, but not stylishly so, an air of desperation hanging about her like cheap perfume. He falls for that every time. And every time, he comes to the rescue, knight in shining armour, saves the day, and she skips off leaving bills unpaid. Typical.
I was typing away, trying not to listen to her sobbing in the office. Hey, I'm as nosey as the next office girl, but after hearing the same story time after time for over 3 years, it loses its appeal. So I was typing a letter, trying to drown out this week's girl's performance. And I heard them coming. Gallumping up the stairs, panting heavily. It's only the 5th floor. I make that trip every day, several times a day. You do that in high heels, then you might get a little sympathy from me.
So I had just enough time to prepare myself when the door burst open. There they were, big, burly, filling the doorway. Inside the office, he must've heard their arrival. He came out quickly, all rumpled and irritated at the interruption.
The one in front spoke: "I don't care what you say, Mack, the order's been paid for, and you're gonna take delivery!"
He tried to stop them, tried to talk them around to seeing his way of things, but they wouldn't have any of that. In the end, they plunked those boxes down right in front of my desk and left.
The boxes were so big, and the area so small, that we couldn't even close the door. I looked at them helplessly. He looked at them helplessly. She came out and asked: "What's that?" a little fearfully.
He sighed. "Three boxes of "Desperation" for women. Detective Crawford's idea of a joke."
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branchandroot
no subject
Date: 2005-06-13 10:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-13 10:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-13 10:24 am (UTC)*posts!*
Now it's your turn. Entertain me! More entertainment!
no subject
Date: 2005-06-13 10:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-13 10:37 am (UTC)Darnit. That's not very exciting.
All right, this time I'll actually try.
Date: 2005-06-13 11:01 am (UTC)We'd been getting calls for awhile, the guy getting more and more insistent. At first, I was able to fend them off on my own, but lately, they've been wearing me down. I'm at the point where I just put them through and let him deal with it. I'm not getting paid enough to deal with this.
So yeah, it was a Thursday. I think. Might've been a Wednesday. I know it definitely wasn't a Friday, he's never here on Friday afternoons, and Tuesday is the day that I go to have my hair & nails done. I think it's a bit much to go every week, but the one time that I didn't go, he mentioned that I was looking a little tired. Tired! You try working 40+ hours a week on peanuts and see how you look, buddy!
He was in the office with a client. It was Thursday. I'm sure now that it was Thursday. (I was lamenting a paper cut, and noticed that I'd chipped the nail polish.) The client was a typical one, blonde, well-dressed, but not stylishly so, an air of desperation hanging about her like cheap perfume. He falls for that every time. And every time, he comes to the rescue, knight in shining armour, saves the day, and she skips off leaving bills unpaid. Typical.
I was typing away, trying not to listen to her sobbing in the office. Hey, I'm as nosey as the next office girl, but after hearing the same story time after time for over 3 years, it loses its appeal. So I was typing a letter, trying to drown out this week's girl's performance. And I heard them coming. Gallumping up the stairs, panting heavily. It's only the 5th floor. I make that trip every day, several times a day. You do that in high heels, then you might get a little sympathy from me.
So I had just enough time to prepare myself when the door burst open. There they were, big, burly, filling the doorway. Inside the office, he must've heard their arrival. He came out quickly, all rumpled and irritated at the interruption.
The one in front spoke: "I don't care what you say, Mack, the order's been paid for, and you're gonna take delivery!"
He tried to stop them, tried to talk them around to seeing his way of things, but they wouldn't have any of that. In the end, they plunked those boxes down right in front of my desk and left.
The boxes were so big, and the area so small, that we couldn't even close the door. I looked at them helplessly. He looked at them helplessly. She came out and asked: "What's that?" a little fearfully.
He sighed. "Three boxes of "Desperation" for women. Detective Crawford's idea of a joke."
Re: All right, this time I'll actually try.
Date: 2005-06-13 11:07 am (UTC)Re: All right, this time I'll actually try.
Date: 2005-06-13 11:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-13 11:41 am (UTC)His roomate just disconnected us =.=;;;
no subject
Date: 2005-06-13 05:39 pm (UTC)