Random African American!
The votes were neck and neck, but in the end it looks like love prevailed. All the guy wanted was a hug, after all, so I think I'll give him one next time I see him.
In other news, I started my internship :^)
The office is a five minute walk from my apartment, which has all the other office folk extremely jealous -- most people's commute is about an hour. The department I'm in is relatively tiny compared to the mammoth corporation as a whole, but it certainly serves an important function. Due to privacy reasons, I can't really blog about the details (though if anyone from Area 51 is reading, I'll consider trading secrets), but I can say that my daily duties have something to do with... wait for it...
Computers and textbooks.
Damn. I've said too much.
In all seriousness, my favorite part of work so far is the people. They remind me of the cast from The Office. In a good way. And I'm ecstatic about finally having a job that has absolutely NOTHING to do with the general public!
What's that? You want butter on your popcorn?
Get it your f@*&ing self.
Moving along... I share an open bullpen with three other workers, two of whom are quickly becoming good friends. They're funny, young, and fiercely intelligent. I tried my Litmus Test of American Ignorance and asked if they knew who Canada's President was; they laughed and went on to name all of Canada, Britain, and Australia's past three Prime Ministers.
The third woman who shares our workspace hasn't said a single word since I started. She sits at the desk closest to the window, always with her back to the rest of the room, and types furiously away in total silence for hours and hours and hours. I haven't even seen her take lunch. She just types away, all afternoon and -- since she's already at her computer when I arrive in the morning -- I assume all night, too. During the two days I've been there, I think she's completed six novels. About what, no one knows.
Something else I'm really impressed with is the level of security of the office building. Just to get through the front doors, everyone has to flash their badges at a row of body guards.
Oh, pardon me. Our badges aren't called "badges"; instead, due to the v-shaped stripes on the back of them, they're called V-Cards. [Insert your own joke here].
Since I don't have my V-Card yet, I have to get a giant visitor's sticker slapped to my shirt every morning. But a lot of good it does, because once I get off the elevators I can't enter the office section without V-Card encryption anyway. Needless to say, I have to bang on the glass doors like some desperate floozy in hopes that someone will feel sorry enough to come take me in.
That's about it. Now that my job's started, I suspect these updates might be a little less frequent. Keep checking in, though, and consider becoming a follower. It takes two seconds and it's totally free! Plus, not to pick favorites or anything, but I do love my followers just a smidgen more than non-followers. And I don't mean to beg for support or anything, but I will end off with a slightly adjusted award-winning piece of advice:
Follow this blog or you're racist.
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