Samsonite
I work in an office that is, probably, 80% women. Our website is broken into seven different channels of interest, one of which is Entertainment. This means that, on occasion, famous people make their way into the office.
Yesterday was another harried day, with meetings stacked up, one after the other, all afternoon. I was trying to squeeze in a bit of writing work before I was due to attend my next meeting, when a magpie-like level of chatter filtered its way down the hall to my veal-farm cubicle.
I ignored it, as I had about 30 minutes to cram in two hours of work if I wanted to stay reasonably near deadline.
But the chatter cresecndoed by orders of magnitude, reaching a female-voiced shriek.
"What the hell is going on down there?" I groused to myself as I gathered up my papers and wireframes to head to my next meeting.
I emerged into the hallway to see a gaggle of my colleagues clustered about in a tittering, buzzing bunch, all facing the same direction and positively pulsing with glee.
And who were they clustered about?
Yep, that's Fabio, with my friend Jen. Frickin' Fabio!
The man is tanned like a Samsonite suitcase. I imagine he is totally waterproof and, if his after-death plans include burial, his corpse will probably escape putrifecation entirely due to the fact that hide like that is more than a match for worms and bacteria.
To his credit, he did seem really nice, and was totally good-natured about posing for umpteen photographs with my screaming co-workers. He did seem to want to pick everyone up like we were all auditioning for roles on the cover of the next hot Harlequin romance novel
(here he is hoisting my friend Madlena). I took a pass on getting a photo or getting picked up, because I didn't need the responsibility of potentially herniating a national icon.
To sum up: walking down the office hallway + seeing Fabio = totally surreal.
Yesterday was another harried day, with meetings stacked up, one after the other, all afternoon. I was trying to squeeze in a bit of writing work before I was due to attend my next meeting, when a magpie-like level of chatter filtered its way down the hall to my veal-farm cubicle.
I ignored it, as I had about 30 minutes to cram in two hours of work if I wanted to stay reasonably near deadline.
But the chatter cresecndoed by orders of magnitude, reaching a female-voiced shriek.
"What the hell is going on down there?" I groused to myself as I gathered up my papers and wireframes to head to my next meeting.
I emerged into the hallway to see a gaggle of my colleagues clustered about in a tittering, buzzing bunch, all facing the same direction and positively pulsing with glee.
And who were they clustered about?
Yep, that's Fabio, with my friend Jen. Frickin' Fabio!
The man is tanned like a Samsonite suitcase. I imagine he is totally waterproof and, if his after-death plans include burial, his corpse will probably escape putrifecation entirely due to the fact that hide like that is more than a match for worms and bacteria.
To his credit, he did seem really nice, and was totally good-natured about posing for umpteen photographs with my screaming co-workers. He did seem to want to pick everyone up like we were all auditioning for roles on the cover of the next hot Harlequin romance novel
(here he is hoisting my friend Madlena). I took a pass on getting a photo or getting picked up, because I didn't need the responsibility of potentially herniating a national icon.
To sum up: walking down the office hallway + seeing Fabio = totally surreal.
posted by Liz at 10:07 AM
3 Comments:
WOW! This scotchguard physique is solely the product of a seriously Partially Hydrogenated lifestyle...I can't believe he's not porous!
Oh, and 'd' is Claudine! Ma-halo
So, you're telling me that you started a blog so you could post pictures of Fabio?
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