I can really never decide if I think “The Ladies” I work with are well-meaning but mildly offensive or actually devilishly snide and therefore my kind of people. A few days ago I was transcribing the hourly metrics while Janet rang up a girl about my age with her mother. The girl was clearly buying work clothes for a real job, which is how I can very efficiently tell whether I ought to hate someone or not. Janet, being the middle-aged chatterbox they all are, quickly sussed out where the girl worked – Ralph Lauren – and doing what – Finance. I smiled (grimaced) and scribbled my numbers down.
Then Janet looped me into the conversation. “Now, have you ever considered finance?” These are the kinds of questions I love, the sort that would be great ideas if I were 18 and about to commence an education that might yield fruitful employment, as opposed to 24 with a pointless degree and dead-end job.
For those reasons, I answered curtly, “I’m not qualified for that.” Duh.
And then, because the divine hands pulling the puppet strings at Banana at least have a sense of humor, a woman walked up to me and snipped, “Can you ring me up?” What else could I say but:
“THAT I’m qualified for.”
(Honestly, sometimes they just hand you the punchline on a platter.)