The cheerleaders around my office have been replaced by french chicks:
Some of the
denizens of
#everything might have heard me
pleading for a
quick death the last few
days. This was because of the
cheerleaders. Apparently
Roger Williams University (my current
employer) has a cheerleading/baton twirling
seminar or something like that in the middle of the summer. The end result is that the
campus was flooded with
gorgeous tanned
athletic cheerleader types.
Why, do you ask, was this a bad thing? Why did this somewhat routine occurence throw me into a
suicidal funk? Well, it was mostly because
lawsuit-paranoid Roger Williams decided that we couldn't breathe a WORD to any of these paragons of
nubile beauty unless it was
computer-related.
They never went anywhere NEAR a computer in the
week that they were here.
Then, they left. I breathed a
sigh of relief, content in the knowlege that I could go about my work with a clear
mind. This, however, was not to be.
Apparently, right after the cheerleaders take off for parts unknown, Roger Williams invites every
female soccer player from the entirety of (
southern, by their
accent)
France to come and play
soccer. These gals spend a large portion of their time in the computer labs,
communicating with
friends and
relations at
home.
I was
ecstatic at first, largely because I'm the only person in the entire
IT department who speaks
French. They'd HAVE to talk to me at some point.
No. Not a single problem, for days on end.
Then it finally happened. The
french chicks had a
computer-related problem, and I was the only person in the entire
IT department who spoke even a
word of french. (Turns out I'm still pretty
good, despite not having used it in four years.) Anyway, I was working
Help Desk (gah) when I heard one of my bosses trying to
explain something to someone out in the
lab area. Normally, this would not be cause for
concern. What tipped me off was the fact that he was talking very
LOUD and very slooowwwwww. I leapt from my
seat, hoping to avert
disaster.
Across the lab I could see him standing next to two absolutely
gorgeous french girls, along with another tech. All
four were wearing frustrated and
confused expressions. I glanced at the
screen while my boss tried to emote the concept of a
password with his hands. (unsuccessfully).
Ignoring him, I turned to the two stunning
paragons of
beauty and explained, in layman's terms, that they had used an
illegal character when choosing an email
address. Comprehension dawned in their liquid green eyes as my co-workers gaped.
"You speak french?"
"Yup."
"When the hell were you going to tell me that?"
"Jesus, dude, it was right on my
resume."
Additional stammering ensued, which I also ignored as I explained how to
compose new
mail. I assured them that if they had any other problems I would be available to help. With their "
Merci beaucoup" ringing like the sweetest of bells in the air, I returned,
triumphant, to my desk, having just made my day
worthwhile.