soapboxdiner
Overexposed
Last night I was late for my flight to Italy, where I was going solo on vacation. Hurriedly, I rushed down to the Vacation Welfare Office (which performs all kinds of Very Important Customs Stuff), and was saddened and dismayed to discover the Vacation Welfare Office was nothing more than a stark cloister of a room littered with wayward travelers standing in lines to have their papers stamped. Who should I see at the Approvals Desk but one of my docs officiating as the Vacation Welfare Officer - and taking his sweetass time reviewing some poor sack's documentation.
Hours I waited to get to the front of the line, but to the front I eventually arrived, and Doc said, "Italy! Oh goody! You'll love Italy. But you've missed your flight; sad. Very sad indeed. I'll tell you what I can do for you. Come with me."
This he said in his incredibly sexy South African accent (which is surprisingly British in inflection - he's such a hotty).
Down the back staircase we went, then out the building and to the Venetian canal outside. There, he aided me into the gondola and paddled me (for lack of a more suitable word) across the Atlantic.
You have to love service like that. Even if it is just dream-created. What a gentleman.
This is the bit of inanity that got me through the day, darlings.
Do you ever feel like you've overstayed your employers' hospitality? Like they know you more intimately than you're comfortable with? All your various moods and quirks of personality as indiscreet as yesterday's panties discovered on the bedroom floor.
Time to move on to all new terrains. One in which I can get lost. Safe and incognito.
Damn shame, really, that this place is the most lucrative I've ever been in. Makes it terribly difficult to walk away, which is what about 80% of the fibers in my body want to do. The other 20% have good sense and regularly bitch slap the other 80% of me that cringes for 8 hours a working day.
6:56 pm - 09.09.03
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