Stop Harassing My Secretaries

Many people who read this blog seem to walk away with the belief that I’m a self-centered, uncaring, heartless bastard. They also accuse me of using far more than my fair share of the planet’s resources, but I can’t argue with that. If anything, I wear it as a badge of pride. Besides, given that I make more per annum than your average third world country, I’m entitled.

But anyhow, back to the first complaint. It couldn’t be further from the truth.

Take this morning for example. Upon arriving at the offices of Luddite, Crapstone & Fuchs (LCF), I found the head of my secretarial pool, Miss Cashtushy, sobbing softly into her hands instead of answering phones or filing paperwork per her job description. It’s a good thing she’s not a man, or the very sight of her tears would’ve filled me with disgust.

“What’s the meaning of this, Cashtushy?” I barked. “I’m certainly not paying you to sit on that lush derriere of yours and cry. Back to work!”

“Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry, Mr. Carver. I’m just having a rough morning.”

“Yes, well, imagine how much rougher it would be if you were collecting unemployment! Now turn off the waterworks and go get me my morning cup of coffee.”

Infuriatingly, my words had the opposite of the intended effect: instead of calming down, the poor girl started to cry even harder. I sighed wearily and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. At least her sorrow gave me the opportunity to stare openly at her heaving, quivering cleavage.

“There, there,” I said, offering my silk handkerchief. “Tell me what’s troubling you.”

“I… I don’t want to bother you…”

“Nonsense. Besides, you’re already bothering me with this open display of womanly emotion. The sooner we get to the bottom of it, the better.”

She dabbed her eyes and nodded.

“Okay,” she said. “Last night? I went out on a date with the new copywriter, Grover Johnson.”

“Johnson? I thought he was gay.”

“No. At least I don’t think he’s gay.”

“Huh. And I only hired him to satisfy some bullshit equal opportunity requirements. But anyhow, what happened? He didn’t try to take advantage of you, did he?”

“Uh-uh. He took me out dancing.”

“Dancing? And it was his idea? Sounds gay to me. But I thought girls liked dancing. Why did it make you cry?”

“It wasn’t the dancing. First, when he picked me up?”

“Yes?”

“I wasn’t in the car five minutes before he started telling me that my dress was ‘all wrong.’ And it was a very beautiful dress!”

“I’m sure it was, Miss Cashtushy. Is that it?”

“No. After we’d been there for awhile, someone started up the Electric Slide…”

“What is that? Some kind of sex game?”

“What? No! It’s a type of dance.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Anyhow, he… he… he got mad and yelled at me that my Electric Slide was horrible. Horrible!”

And just like that, she was off crying again. Typical woman. Regardless, I certainly couldn’t have such trivialities impacting my department’s performance, not with quarterly reviews coming up.

“Put his oafish behavior out of your mind, my dear,” I said. “I’m going to go rectify this situation right now.”

A few minutes later, I found this Grover character typing away at his desk.

“Johnson?”

“Hmm?” he said, turning to look at me. “Oh, Mr. Carver! A pleasure to meet you, sir! I’d been hoping we’d get the chance to…”

Grabbing him by the hair, I twisted his head around and slammed his face into his keyboard.

“Rule number one of business, son!” I shouted. “You don’t!” Another face slam. “Shit!” And another. “Where!” Yet another. “You eat!” And one more for good measure. Half of the keys were sticking to his bloodied, bruised face, which only added to my enjoyment.

“Unless you’re the boss, of course. Which you most certainly are not! Now pack up your stuff and get out of here — you’re fired!”

Wrong righted, I returned to Miss Cashtushy’s desk to find her smiling happily.

“Thank you, Mr. Carver,” she said. “That was wonderful.”

“Anytime, my dear. Now hurry up with that coffee. I have a busy day ahead of me, and I wasted enough of it already on that two-bit creep.”

“Oh, and Miss Cashtushy?” I added before entering my office.

“Yes, Mr. Carver?”

“Might I say that you are wearing a very lovely dress today. Really hugs those sweet curves of yours. Now back to work!”

So as you can see, I’m hardly the soulless monster the liberal media would have you believe. Sure, I might face some legal repercussions for the decisive way in which I settled the matter, but I’ll let my attorneys worry about that. It is, after all, why I pay them.

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Categories: Business, Dating, Idiots, Motivation, Violence

Tags: , , , , ,

2 replies

  1. That Grover Johnson sounds like a real asshole.

    • You have no idea. What kind of man criticizes a non-paid date’s dress AND dancing skills all in the same evening? He’ll no doubt face a lifetime of brutal keyboard beatings if he doesn’t learn to pace himself.

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