Help Wanted

So the boss brings her daughter into the office today. Her 18 year old daughter. Because she's done with college for the semester and apparently needs something to do. So she brings her daughter in to meet me.

"Ken, this is my daughter."

"Hi. I'm Ken."

"Hi."

And I keep the small talk to a minimum. Because the boss knows me and knows what I'm all about and I'm sure only brought her daughter in to see me so I wouldn't be the only person in the entire company who didn't get to meet her. And, yes, her daughter is hot like you read about.

So with this quick intro completed, my boss goes to usher her daughter out of my sight and out of my life. But then her daughter notices the Nomar bobblehead on the bookcase next to my desk, and she skips over to it.

"Oh my god. Is this supposed to be Nomar?"

And she stands, with her back to me, tapping the bobblehead and laughing. And the bosses' daughter's impossibly tight 18 year old ass is about two feet from my face. And the boss is glaring at me, her eyes saying, "Don't you fucking dare turn around and check out my daughter's ass."

And the eternal battle rages within me... every fiber of my being wanting to crank my head and soak up the majesty that is my bosses' daughter's ass, while that tiny part of my brain that craves gainful employment tells me no. Keep calm. Steady, man. Focus. But she just sits there laughing at that goddam bobblehead and her ass is taunting me like the motherfucking Scylla and Charybdis and the boss is practically writing my pink slip in her head as I actually start shaking as I fight the urge to twist my neck.

I think you can probably figure out who won that fight. And later, at the end of the day, my boss called me in to explain that my work on the Culvert report was abyssmal at best, and I'd have to do it again.

Coincidence? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

But that was one smoking ass.