Cassie Andersen, Executive Assistant to President Daniel Patel, is undoubtedly my favorite target.
Full of big bones, her violent temper is displayed hourly. If we erected a glass barricade in front of Mrs. Andersen, and charged the general public a scant dollar to view her in a zoo like setting, our yearly profits would easily triple.
I too cannot restrict my rage. However, I work hard to isolate my fits. Also, I consider my temper a troublesome weakness. I fight to subdue the intense anger. Like a serial killer recounting their latest conquest in a letter to the local newspaper, Mrs. Andersen beams with pride at the conclusion of each tantrum. "Look what I got away with!"
Around Cassie's pudgy puss is a mess of short black hair. The unflattering 'do should have by now inspired Santa Claus to leave beneath the Andersen tree a book instructing women how to style their locks in a way that accentuates the shape of their face.
Though it takes her hours to accomplish tasks others need only minutes to finish, she thoroughly satisfies Mr. Patel, even if she's forced to transcribe, file, and make reservations into the wee hours. The ability to perennially please her direct supervisor, the president of the company, gives Cassie the freedom to make each and every peer miserable.
Beneficially for me, due to the volume of the routine rants, thirtieth floor employees completely tune out Mrs. Andersen. They don't listen to her complain about traffic, they don't listen to her complain about her husband, they don't listen to her complain about the hectic schedule that keeps her "crazy, busy", and they definitely don't listen to her complain about the bad luck that befalls her on a weekly basis.
I, however, found fascinating the story of a recent printer-ink shipment that was thrice rerouted to her former home in East Lansing, Michigan.
"Really, three times it happened?" I asked.
"Yeah, and their customer service reps kept telling me that I was logging into my account and changing the shipping destination! Why would I have printer-ink delivered to an address I haven't lived at since the last millennium!" she cried.
To reiterate, being an expert in the field of computers, and possessing the ability to imitate a person oozing with what society refers to as integrity, means my technology related statements go unquestioned. So of course Mrs. Andersen didn't doubt me when I said, "I've read about similar instances, Cassie. There's a glitch in their mainframe. The dirty little secret is that they're fully aware of the problem, yet, fearing you'd summarily delete their website from your list of favorites, refuse to admit it's a systemic issue."
"It serves me right dealing with a faceless corporation interested exclusively in the bottom line," she barked.
Thankfully I'm not stuck in the office where Cassie spends ten-plus hours freaking out each weekday and the sporadic Saturday. That chore is handled by the Executive Assistant to the CEO.
