This story happened not so long ago. I was 20 years old working as an intern for a communications company in New York City. At the time I was a student at NYU going to classes in the morning hours, and interning the rest of the afternoon. As an intern, I was basically a glorified gofer. Bringing coffee to the boss, filing paperwork, answering the phone, and assisting in work no one would ever want to do.
I was working with this company for a couple of months, and I absolutely hated it. The only reason why I didn't quit was because it's worth 3 credits at college; otherwise I would have been out the door.
This story begins late one winter Friday afternoon. I just finished a grueling calculus exam. I didn't study as hard as I should have and needless to say, I knew I failed. In order to pass this class I knew I would have to Ace the final exam, and that alone worried me. How can I put my self in such a position?
An hour or so later I walked into the company building, distraught, aggravated and depressed. The last place I wanted to be this very moment was in this place, but I now needed these 3 credits more than ever. I took the elevator to my floor, punched in, and started filing paperwork, neatly piled for me. About 20 or so minutes later my boss called my name.
"Jack, I need you to bring this package down to the mailroom, it needs to get out today."
"Yes, sir" I replied.
"But Jack, you have to wait until it's picked up by the carrier, I don't care how long it takes, wait there"
I was about to tell him to bring the fucking package down himself; I politely complied, picked up the "five ton" package, and brought it to the mailroom.
The elevator carried me down to the basement level; I walked to the steel door labeled mailroom, and rang the bell. A few seconds later the door opened, and I was introduced to the Mailroom Supervisor, Ms. Betty Taylor. At the time I assumed she was in her late 40's. Her eyes were dark black, however looked maternal, warm yet focused. She had long frizzy black hair, and beyond a few slight wrinkles caused by age, her skin seemed soft beyond her light facial complexion, only subdued by her slightly red lips. As I looked beyond her face, and focused on her body, beyond the dark button down shirt and khaki pants she was wearing, I saw a perfect specimen of a slightly overweight woman, whose weight was perfectly proportioned. Her breasts seemed most ample, her thighs and ass thick. As she walked, her body didn't jiggle, but was as firm as that of a young skinny 20 year old. She stood at about 5'6".
As we made our introductions and I explained the situation to Ms. Taylor, she informed me where to place the package, offered me a seat and a cup of coffee. As I sat down, she sat across from me, and asked where I went to school. The name badge I wore on my lapel gave away that I was an intern, so I answered her. She then asked how I was doing in my classes, and it was then I answered "alright" in a completely upset tone of voice. She then knew something was wrong and tried to fish out the answer, I then told her of my miserable exam in calculus, and how I didn't study.
"Well dear why didn't you study," she asked in that motherly way.
"Just busy I guess," I answered.
"Come on, busy with what, what's more important than your studies."
"I guess I just have other things to deal with."
"Girlfriend, isn't it," she immediately said, with out doubt.
"How did you know," I asked surprised.
"When you're my age dear, with 2 grown boys, and a girl, you know these things, so what's wrong with you and your girlfriend."
I wasn't sure how to answer, if I answered honestly, I would embarrass myself, and if I lied, she would probably know.
Betty smiled, and said she knew what it was.
"What," I asked; as if she would know?
"Sex, it has to be sex, something to do with it, not to do with it, but sex nonetheless."
I couldn't help but smile, I found her amazing, and she was like some kind of soothsayer. At least back then I thought she was, as I got older I understood how she knew so much.
