#manager?

[transphilza]

hey guys this is. this is just the plot of the spongebob movie

[oldshrewsburyian]

I do enjoy idiosyncratic lists of salutations, and this one, from a publisher, is particularly... wide-ranging.

[nightly-ghostie]

I've been at work for a total of 40 minutes and the fact that I'll have to be here for another 680 is killing me.

[misfitjohnnys]

i’ve been sent multiple videos on tiktok made by @/celestialpunkk and i’m litetally gonna scream bc that girl is me and i’m ashamed

[sykkoteddy]

To accept the promotion...or not...

They're wanting to make me a manager at work. It's like a dollar more in pay, and like 35 guaranteed hours. Maybe 30, Idk. It means more responsibility, paperwork, money counting, training, instructing, and various other manager type tasks. It also means a stupid amount of schooling. (Barbecue University) plus, I would be committing more time at Dickey's. I REALLY don't know if I want to do that. I already hate my job so much...

[yououghttolaugh-blog]

That awkward moment when you are supposed to write a bio for yourself to describe your job title and realize you have no idea what it is you actually do.

[tyrantasaur]

>> spies я us

An hour later saw her back in her apartment, staring out the large windows over the cityscape, a large towel wrapped around her. Raking her hands through damp hair, she piled it in a messy bun. Picking up a small jewelry box, she withdrew a push knife and scraped it lightly against her thumb, turning it over to see the rising sunlight flash across the black handle. Let all the other jarheads like Jasper play with their guns; knives were a sophisticated weapon. It required so much more skill and grace to use. A small smile crossed Quinn's face as she thought about the lovely vintage dagger and ceremonial sword collection she had back at her apartment in her home base in DC. She'd brought some of them with her, hidden in the underground fortress, codenamed Burrow. They were her more sturdy weapons, the ones that she could practice with, and on her down time or if she felt aggravated or stressed (which, as she had to spend time in Jasper Jackson's general vicinity was all too often), she would retreat to the solitude of the Burrow and polish the swords. 

Pulling out a matching knife, she set them on her bed and placed the jewelry box back on her vanity. Getting dressed was a methodical practice; she preferred, like many of her brethren, to keep various weapons on her person. Hidden, naturally. That's what took practice. Laid out on her duvet was the uniform for her undercover job. Quinn had been assigned to work as a member of the Nerd Herd at a Buy More in California. Her assignment was to try and recruit a certain desirable asset, a young woman that had gone undetected for too long due to how talented she was at hacking into, apparently, any and every system.

Everything had been going smoothly for the mission; her entry into the workplace had been flawlessly achieved, Emma had gradually come to trust Quinn and profess friendship, and all that was left was to approach her to join the CIA. The NSA was trying to muscle in on her turf, sending the infamous J. Jackson to try and recruit Emma for their organization. Quinn snorted as she slipped the knives into their sheaths and strapped them to her thigh. Tucking her white collared shirt into the black skater skirt, she arranged a tie that was rigged with the wiring to a tiny hidden camera, replaced the pocket protector, and clipped on the photo ID that read QUINN ARESTON. In a small jar on her desk sat a number of assorted pens and pencils, and when she picked up a small screwdriver she shrugged and grabbed a pen, stuffing them both into her pocket. 

Quinn didn't often wear make-up when she went to work, especially since she didn't need to try and catch anyone's attention. The opposite, actually; she was supposed to be flying under the radar, and the only person whose attention she needed was Emma's. That had been almost too easy, which had made her feel suspicious at first and vaguely guilty after. Letting her hair down and lightly blow drying it, she pulled it back into a rather severe ponytail; now dressed and ready for work, she turned on her TV and waited for a moment before a steely eyed woman in a stark outfit appeared on the screen. "Agent Areston," she nodded curtly. "I trust everything is going well." Without waiting for a response, she continued. "I think that you ought to begin phase 3." Quinn nodded in acknowledgement. Their timeline had been stepped up somewhat because of the NSA's sudden involvement, but that didn't bother her much. In her opinion, they would have shortened the projected schedule without the NSA's intrusion anyway, because Emma had not needed a long time to accept Quinn into her circle. "That will be all. Continue your updates."

"Of course, Director. I will let you know the moment anything happens." The woman surveyed Quinn for a disconcerting moment before relaxing her features n as close to a smile as she had seen. There were no other words exchanged, merely a nod of the head as the director signed off. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Greeting her coworkers as they entered, she sat at the Nerd Herd desk with her back straight against the chair, legs crossed at the ankle and paperwork spread before her. "Yo, Q."  Looking up from the papers, she turned and relaxed her posture into something less rigid, and greeted her green polo-clad co-worker. "Ahh, greetings Spock," she returned in a play on the girl's name, Caroline Spork.