I most definetely have a weak spot for receptionists.
I don’t think it’s just the fact that the substitutes are all young, attractive females. No. I think it’s the entire scheme. They’re there to protect and to serve. Just without the badges and angry narco-dogs. If I’d reached far in this world, I’d be a corporate prick. I’d have blonde secretaries, sexy receptionists and a gullible wife. That’s honesty for ya.
And now that our receptionist is going for a one-week vacation, we’ve got a substitute.
The other thing about substitute receptionists is that they are all trying hard to fit in in order to ensure further employment, if the current one should quit or go hiatus for a while. And where not to begin their socialization but the bottom? Ah, the bottom..
That’s where they find me!
Since I did my civil service around here, I’m familiar with all the "classes" of this place, and get along with all of them. I’m the helpful guy. I’m the guy you can trust will work his ass off to make sure you’re all right. I’m the guy who guarantees that this locomotive is running smoothly on its tracks. I’m very attractive to substitute receptionists.
And this is not just something I’m saying. Like, to be cool or anything.
Nope. I’ve got experience in the field. Of course the quote unquote relationship didn’t last any longer than a brief lunchbreak, in romantic terms, but still I consider myself the receptionist’s best friend. I’m the puppy they want to pet. And I don’t mind petting. At least when you’re blond, female, attractive and coming on to me.
But my days as a civil service worker are finished. I served my country as a pacifist well, and have now cut my hair short and put on my green, military trousers. And I’m on the payroll. So, I can’t go fucking around, literally speaking. I’m advancing to becoming a student somewhen in the distant future, which means I need money. To get money, I need a job. This job. Hence I can’t afford to loose it.
That is my predicament.
To fulfill my biological purpouse and reproduce the race, with some help from the reception, or have food when I’m studying. The latter, I assume, is for the best. I like food, and I don’t like children. At least not little, runnin’ Sigg3 replicas that I’m supposed to pay for the 18 years they’re in my custody. So? you say? It’s a common mistake to think you can solve any major problem with condoms. As part of the institutional machinery constituted by all hard working men and women in Norway, I’ve got to follow the rules. Those ethical things.
Unless an unsuspected, cramped, hot and dirty elevator situation should arise..
Time will tell.