Comrade Carl Marks, the decrepit lecher who heads R&D stopped by my cubicle as I was managing corporate communication on my Blackberry Priv via Whatsapp.
The comrade gawked at my legs; I was overwhelmed with the complexity of the sms/text I was composing, so I did not notice at first. (My gym teacher Mr Johannes Johannson used to tell me that "no one can outdo you in the leg department, Miss Ramsbottom).
When I finally picked up my head and glanced at Carl, I called him a "filthy pig" (in French and English) and lanced Cynthia's spare axe at him, but he was unscathed. (Cynthia has 3 axes.)
Corporate life and maintaining my seat at the table is hard enough as it is, without been dissed by colleagues.
Dad, Pierre Elliot, used to tell me not to flaunt my legs. I don't. But I don't hide them, from an HR perspective.
Monday, 4 November 2013
"Stop looking at my legs, Carl"
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