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Despite the chill, there's a lot of hot air.   —   Frustration

Today there is a Corporate Sales Meeting in which employees from the New Jersey office have come to the New York office so that they too may participate in the ongoing training of how to sell better, faster, smarter. Our office is now bulging at the seams with sales people. Those people. I can almost hear them chant Glengarry Glen Ross lines as they stand in the kitchen and fill their coffee mugs, using the last of my half and half. On bathroom breaks they spill into the halls laughing and using their most boisterous voices trying to tell the funniest joke. They all have to talk over each other because they don't wait for each other to finish speaking, it's just an orgy of words and manly chuckles. If you don't look at their faces it's almost impossible to tell them apart, it's just a swirl of blue stripe shirts, tan slacks and ties. When I walk past them they change the subject to working out and talk about the gym a lot. I can almost hear the starch in their shirts crack as they subtly flex their muscles. I wonder how many women out there actually fall for men like this, and then I remember what kind of women are out there and am horrified by the thought of all of them breeding.

Finally the noise dies down and I assume they are all back in their meeting, so I get up and make my way into the back room to check my mail box. As I enter the room I realize before it's too late to turn back that there are a group of about 6 of them standing by the fax machine. They're kind of whispering so I know this is not the best time to draw attention from the herd. But like I said, it's too late. I walk over to the mail boxes and silently reach for my mail when suddenly one of them says loudly, "Holy shit, look at her tattoos!", and I clench my jaw and turn around. They are all staring at my wrists and shoving out sentences that contain "hurt, ballsy, mother, regret" and I know that these are supposed to be questions for me to answer, but I stay silent. After a very long moment of this, which in reality was probably five seconds, they all settle down enough for me to end the interaction with a "Well, it's been fun guys", and promptly turn and walk out of the room. Back in the safety of my office space I sit in front of my computer and I can still hear them saying words like "huge" and "beautiful". For a moment I wonder if they're still talking about my tattoos but decide instead, they're probably just talking about themselves.

Posted 5.20.2004

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