As many of you know, we here at Thomas Ryan are very pleased with the growth of our company. Everyday, we check our stats and are pleased to report that we have yet to have a day of zero hits on our website. We have yet to get double-digit visits, but that day will come.
In order to prepare for this exciting progress, we have decided to add on to the office staff by hiring a receptionist. We understand that our phones only ring about once every three days, but when they do, we really feel it would present a professional appearance to have a trained person answering it.
That being said, we put an ad in the free section of some online classified ad site. After sifting through the pranks and perverts who clearly misunderstood our advert, we were able to set up an interview with what we thought was a prime candidate for the position…we were wrong.
She arrived this morning and was wearing elevated shoes that added about three inches to her height which we figured was about five feet without the shoes. She was also wearing those horned-rimmed, black plastic framed glasses, a pant suit, and demanded that we call her Mizz Wilson.
When we asked her to complete a paper application, she insisted that we were being unreasonable and that her CV she emailed should be sufficient. I was about to send her on her way when Seth-you remember Seth, right?-approached me and quietly informed me that this young lady had sued her last employer for sexual harassment after one of her co-workers complimented her on her new hairdo.
I told Thomas Ryan about all this but he didn’t seem too concerned. He told me to show her in to his office. Seth and I sat in on the interview to serve as witnesses, and Thomas simply reviewed her CV, asked her salary requirements, and then inquired about her availability.
After she answered his questions, Thomas looked at me and Seth, and then back at her before saying.
“Well, I think we can bring you on board,” He started. “Come on back here at eight a.m. on Monday, the 22nd of July…2052.”
She sat there with her open for a moment and then replied. “The year 2052?”
“Yep, eight a.m. sharp-don’t be late.”
By the by, we still have an opening here.
Until next time.