Ok, ok, this today.

Mid-conversation with one of my workers, and he’s opening oogling the, admittedly, skankily dressed exhibitor (underwear, madam. For god’s sake, underwear) and I have to repeat my instructions three times.

I am not your fucking bro’. I’m your supervisor, and you’d damn sure better fake productivity when I’m around and stop using the show floor like your own personal porn hub.

Also, I’m a woman. What in all of god’s green goodness makes you think I’d want to watch you drool over a piece of strategically placed anal floss?

Someone tell me I’m pretty.

(Source: hellmouths)