LogFAQs > #884987801

C) "My coworker Janice won't stop swearing at me in the office."

You decide it's better to start with something simple and choose the foul mouthed old lady. The other options would require actual investigation skills on your part. How are you supposed to know where this person's car went? Or where this woman's husband is? Or how to heal the racial divide in this Uh-Oh Oreo of a country?

Hell, the husband's probably dead. Car's probably dead too and has been taken apart for scraps. Racism certainly isn't dead but your public persona will be if you show up to Julio's Tavern to a conflict between Venezuelans and Guatemalans and can't figure out which side is which.

You open up the rest of the email which reads, "I just started working at Sloan Harbor Insurance a few months ago after graduating college. My cubemate is an old grouch named Janice who's been working here for thirty years and smoking for forty. I think I can help improve this company and make it grow, but every time I tell Janice an idea she calls me a doe-eyed little s*** or a sassy f***nut. Sometimes she just calls me Helen because that's what her last cubemate's name was and she can't be bothered to remember mine. I tried talking to management about it, but my boss told me "That's just Janice. She'll either retire or die soon." I don't want to lose my enthusiasm so quickly out of college. Please help.

-Katie"

If there's one thing that's valued above all else in the business world, it's child-like innocence. You like how she even censored the words shit and fucknut in her email. She shouldn't lose all passion and drive only three or four months removed from college. She has a right to lose it six or seven months out of college, like everyone else does.

"On my way," you reply.

You step out of your house, jog a few steps and leap into the air in the direction of Sloan Harbor. You wouldn't call what you do flying, it's more skyrunning or treading air. You see Sloan Harbor rapidly approaching about fifteen seconds after you left the ground. You stop kicking the air and let yourself drop eighty feet onto the parking lot concrete, fracturing off some of the pavement.

A man eating a meatball sub stops mid-bite to stare at you. A saucy meatball falls out of his sandwich plops on his khakis. "Wh-who the hell are you?"
"I'm just a guy who can jump really long and punch really hard," you reply. "Among other things."
"How did you get your powers?" he asks bewildered.
"I... uh... I blend three frogs with my protein shake whenever I work out," you respond.
The man raises a brow and eyes you up and down. "You work out?"
You squint and think about vaporizing Meatballs. You just told this fucknut you kill a minimum of three frogs a day and he didn't bat an eye at that shit. But the working out bit, THAT'S what tipped him off you were lying.

You leave Meatballs to his business of making a bad stain worse via Tide-To-Go crotchal scrubbing and go inside. You make a mental note to try to repress your own cussing. You typically have a pottymouth and don't want to come across as a hypocrite. You knock on the reception desk and say, "I'm looking for Katie." Before the receptionist can respond, a young woman with a brown ponytail rounds the corner in black pants and a red dress shirt. She was smiling as she rounded the corner, but upon seeing you her face briefly recoiled into a look of confusion and disappointment - but only for a second before she regained a less natural smile.

Look at that - she recovered. What a pro. She might make it in the business world yet.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.