The unfunny rich White girl in the elevator tonight

Let me tell you about this broad I work with. And she is a broad.

She is blonde, Aryan, reasonably attractive, stylish, popular, sells the product we are known for with fluency, and reeks of snobbishness. She is a broad, through and through.

She graduated from a prestigious local private university. From its well-know film school, to be more specific. I think of anyone who graduates or attends this university program is adequately intelligent, but more conveniently, a trait outshone by dubious amount of family wealth. People join this program to have the inside track in Hollywood. This is all college is good for. Showing that you paid the dues doing stupid school crap that doesn’t do a thing for you but it allows you to wave a piece of paper announcing that you are now part of the club. This broad is really full of herself and it doesn’t hurt that our company eats the peanuts out of her shit because she brings in copious amounts of sales. They are whores to her, and the favor is reciprocated. She is pretty, thin, young, and blonde, so obviously she has the male VP’s eating their hearts out.

She is not likable or funny. I’ve had the misfortune of being in the aura of her holy vicinity at times and her personality is flat and her humor is that white girl corn-fed self-conscious type that leaves you crying for more…humor.

Oh, and I know she dislikes me. I get the vibe, and perhaps it’s because I dislike her and undoubtedly exude said vibe as well. Or more likely, she doesn’t know who I am and doesn’t care who I am, but I leave her empty each time we run into each other. This is the more likely possibility of our sour entanglement.

One of her managers sent out a company-wide email boasting of his department’s accomplishments a few months ago and he spent a paragraph or two lauding the precious existence of this woman and highlighting the grand contribution she’d made to our company and for some reason alluded to her foreign exotic travels and adventures. Like I really give a crap about that? This reeked of a sickening schoolboy’s female adulation pussy-whipped crush. I wanted to slap the dude around.

Anyways, this broad is quite full of herself, and the fact that so many dolts in this company are willing to pedestalize her in such lavish measures does nothing to discourage her repugnant self-absorption.

She went to an expensive school, lives this glamorous show biz life, has the genuine celebrity aura. Intolerable levels of egotistic righteousness, anyone?

I love her Facebook profile photo. It’s a black and white shot of her walking away from a Jetstream sitting on a tarmac somewhere in a 3rd world oasis which I presume because standing at the foot of the folding stairs which descend from the plane is a thin black gentleman holding a large umbrella for the white mastah’s as they disembark the private liner. It screams colonial entitlement. This could have been snapped in the 1920’s so archaic is the cultural landscape in the photo! This broad is wearing a tropical-friendly sundress and carries a large handbag over her right shoulder. Windswept blonde hair hides her face and sunglasses; it’s all very dramatic and movie star-like. This broad loves her pretensions.

And she doesn’t like me! Not at all. I’ve never done anything to her, but she just does not like my type. I don’t like her type, either. Not one bit. But to each their own. I won’t intrude in her pristine golden existence as long as she doesn’t come anywhere near my depraved, soiled existence. She is a slave to ego and I’m the enemy of the ego. The twain shall never meet. Except, sometimes, in the work elevator…

Like tonight. I was in the same elevator as some suit I’d never seen before (I call anyone in a sports coat and button up shirt a “suit”) and we were both leaving for the day. We stopped at the next floor and in walks my favorite show biz broad. The prized corporate starlet herself. The savioress of our company. As the elevator doors slid open, she smiled broadly at the suit (he was some kind of bigwiggy dude, I guess) and as she turned to behold me, I swear to god her face crumbled in a heap of disgust!!! The facial transformation was blatant. She didn’t bother attempting to conceal her plummeting opinion of my emerging presence because, really, she doesn’t have to. She wields much more power than I in this company, she can do what she wants, she can act as she wants, she can treat underlings as she wants. But I don’t care. I don’t worship her ground.

Still, I love the broad. She is awesome. I will forever remember this evening’s fantastic downward elevator voyage I shared with her as she took the elevator down one stinking floor. She was trying to be funny while she toyed with her Blackberry but she was not funny. Only a man who wants to get in her pants would laugh at her pathetic humor. She made this vaguely recognizable or identifiable quip about the stairwell being scary (because obviously her highness couldn’t be bothered to take the stairs one floor down) and tried to lace it with a faux edge or cynicism. It was weird man, I had no idea what she was trying to say.

All I can say is I’m glad her daddy is rich and she has tits, for her own sake.