Spank You Very Much.

If I was that kind of blogger, this could be a post about last night... *wink* But instead, it's going to be a post about something else not nearly so interesting. But perhaps easier to stomach, cause really, who actually ever really wants to get all up in the KnowingOfTheFlutterLoveLife? Yeah, didn't think so...

So, today I was working at the hotel, doing my little Front Desk Routine. Normally, I'm working by myself but today I was brought on as Le Assistant a la Manager. (that's Lackey to do General Crap Work for the non-French among us. Wait, that's likely all of us. Sweet. I hate translating.) And as such, was given various and sundry odd jobs around the office. Some phoning, some filing, some bookwork, some more filing. OK, so, really... gobs and gobs of filing. As a former library employee (and I will KILL you if you call me a Librarian... just saying) I rock the alphabetical filing. I also am pretty dang good at numerical filing. This is a talent, people... let no one tell you otherwise.

Is it clear, yet that I'm not sure where I'm going with this? Give it a minute.

Let's just say that it was the filing that almost got my manager sucker-punched.

Cause here we are, two people working in this insanely small and stuffy office. Fan is running and there's barely room to move in the one corner where his desk is and the filing cabinets are mere inches behind his chair. And I'm scooching and trying to generally be inobtrusive while I try to get at this one particular file. Very frustrating. But, I think if I just move over an inch or two, I can get the drawer open far enough and maybe get at it without bumping into his chair. I scooch a bit more and...

SMACK! SMACK!

I jump. The voice in my head screams "Holy Sheepdip!!" and I question for a split second whether or not my manager just spanked my rear and what the appropriate response is to such a freaky occurence.

A moment later my brain reengages and I have the presence of mind to glance behind me and see that I've just managed to back my booty right up into the waiting blades of the room fan. It's sittting there behind me, spinning away happily without. a. front. safety. grill.

Cause that's the kind of classy place I work in, people. Some places charge good money for that kind of excitement. Here? It's all free, baby.

Which sorta makes it a bit like last night. Only without the filing.