Special K has special friends

In addition to Special K, we have a regular motley crew of contractors who make their way through our doors. Included is a really special computer person, Mack.

Mack is pretty awesome, really. He lives at home by himself with some pet snakes. When I mentioned to him that my mother was sick, he told me he'd pray for her--then assured me he was really devout, and really meant it (uh, PC? I think not). He has breath that challenges garlic cloves for its potency factor. He can't pronounce the names of ANY of our projects. And in general, has a sex appeal that is so completely nonexistant that one can't help but make jokes about it whenever possible. Once I had to have a "one on one" session with Mack, and S found jokes about lighting candles and playing music to set the mood rather irresistable. Today L was sitting in my office chatting when Special K came down to announce that Mack was on the line and wanted to talk to her.

I waited a few moments, and (knowing that L was on the phone with him) sent her an instant message saying, "Mmmmm, Mack."

Her response?

MACK. I can just picture your sausage-like fingers tap tap tapping on my keyboard..

Your bloated whale-neck craning at my computer screen.

Your seductive use of such words as 'pacifically' in place of specifically, and of course 'suposably'

So yeah, we're evil. But you knew that already.

Pardon moi, speaky-vous le English?

Special K came down to my office last Friday, walking with that brisk pace that suggests someone is chasing her. With her usual "I'm so sorry to bother you..." she launched into explaining to me that a foreign contact of ours has recently departed his position, and our Director wanted to know his replacement. Since I am the one here who can "speak French," she asked if I could make a call this morning to try to ascertain the name of the replacement.

However, in Special K speech, this went a little more like "Well, I tried calling this number, but it was wrong. And I called this one. It was wrong, too, and they told me I should call this one. But she didn't speak English very well, and it was hard to understand. And I wrote down this number. But don't call that one, or that one. Call that one. The one I drew an arrow to. Not the one that is crossed out. Oh, and that's France, that's why I asked if you could speak French. So that's a country code. Don't ask me! I don't ask any questions. But if you could call, that would be wonderful. And this is what you should ask. But call with this number. Not this one. Thanks. Sorry to bother you. Sorry. Sorry. Thanks."

I called the number this morning, and I attempted to see if I could get the receptionist to speak English, but ended up having to use my rusty French to carry out the conversation. I can't stop laughing thinking about Special K trying to have the same conversation outlined above with someone who doesn't even speak English. And people wonder why Americans have the reputations they do...