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The Intern is an Idiot

Blair hates me again, which is why I hate the intern.

Now let me clarify: I like female interns; I despise any other kind. This particular intern, the one I hate, happens to be a male intern. I don't know his name, nor do I want to know his name. If I knew his name, I would still call him "intern."  The simple fact is: interns are idiots. I was an intern once, and I was also an idiot once. That fact drudges up absolutely zero sympathy. But I hate this particular intern more than any other intern.

I walked into his meager little cubicle, sat myself down on his desk and flashed him a forced smile. 

"Tell me, intern..." I said. "Did you speak to Blair this morning?"

"Blair?" he repeated.

"Blair from Finance."

"Oh yeah. Why?"

I forced another smile. 

"Did my name happen to come up?"

The intern thought about it, long and hard, then as if the microwave dinged, he lit up and nodded.  

"Did she ask who had been up to see me today?"

The intern nodded quicker this time, the conversation now more fresh in his tiny little intern mind.

"And you told her, didn't you?"

He nodded again, but slower this time, not knowing why he had made a horrible blunder, just knowing that he somehow did.

Blair had a way of finding out information without the revealer of the information knowing that they were revealing anything they might not necessarily be supposed to reveal. She had the ability to become the sweetest tangerine on the branch; a person with no mal intent and who could be entrusted with anything. She became mother Teresa when she wanted to be. Like a shape shifter. Like one of the XMen. Like that blue chick. That evil, conniving, deceitful bitch.  

"Okay... I want you to listen to me, little intern. Take notes if you have to. But remember this: never speak about me to any woman in this company, especially Blair. Avoid eye contact with every woman in this company, especially with Blair. In fact, don't even be seen by any woman in this company, especially by Blair. You don't know a goddamn thing about me, so don't ever discuss me again or I'll have you cleaning toilets for the rest of your pathetic college career and possibly 5 years into your real career. If you ever get one. Got it?"

I think I made him cry. Which means he got the point. If he were a smart intern, he would connect the dots and understand why I was so upset. But he doesn't look to be. He's probably still going over this in his head.

Both Lucia and Melanie came to see me earlier today. No doubt the intern revealed the general mood and chemistry between me and each of these women, so I have a lot of explaining to do. Blair had left me a message, exposing her source and revealing her intent. She said I was "Dead."

Makes me wonder. Did Blair leave the anonymous death threat or do I just have two death threats now?

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