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The cheerleaders around my office have been replaced by french chicks:

Some of the denizens of #everything might have heard me pleading for a quick death the last few days. This was because of the cheerleaders. Apparently Roger Williams University (my current employer) has a cheerleading/baton twirling seminar or something like that in the middle of the summer. The end result is that the campus was flooded with gorgeous tanned athletic cheerleader types.

Why, do you ask, was this a bad thing? Why did this somewhat routine occurence throw me into a suicidal funk? Well, it was mostly because lawsuit-paranoid Roger Williams decided that we couldn't breathe a WORD to any of these paragons of nubile beauty unless it was computer-related.

They never went anywhere NEAR a computer in the week that they were here.

Then, they left. I breathed a sigh of relief, content in the knowlege that I could go about my work with a clear mind. This, however, was not to be.

Apparently, right after the cheerleaders take off for parts unknown, Roger Williams invites every female soccer player from the entirety of (southern, by their accent) France to come and play soccer. These gals spend a large portion of their time in the computer labs, communicating with friends and relations at home.

I was ecstatic at first, largely because I'm the only person in the entire IT department who speaks French. They'd HAVE to talk to me at some point.

No. Not a single problem, for days on end.

Then it finally happened. The french chicks had a computer-related problem, and I was the only person in the entire IT department who spoke even a word of french. (Turns out I'm still pretty good, despite not having used it in four years.) Anyway, I was working Help Desk (gah) when I heard one of my bosses trying to explain something to someone out in the lab area. Normally, this would not be cause for concern. What tipped me off was the fact that he was talking very LOUD and very slooowwwwww. I leapt from my seat, hoping to avert disaster.

Across the lab I could see him standing next to two absolutely gorgeous french girls, along with another tech. All four were wearing frustrated and confused expressions. I glanced at the screen while my boss tried to emote the concept of a password with his hands. (unsuccessfully).

Ignoring him, I turned to the two stunning paragons of beauty and explained, in layman's terms, that they had used an illegal character when choosing an email address. Comprehension dawned in their liquid green eyes as my co-workers gaped.

"You speak french?"
"When the hell were you going to tell me that?"
"Jesus, dude, it was right on my resume."

Additional stammering ensued, which I also ignored as I explained how to compose new mail. I assured them that if they had any other problems I would be available to help. With their "Merci beaucoup" ringing like the sweetest of bells in the air, I returned, triumphant, to my desk, having just made my day worthwhile.

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