She is the niece of one of our top salespeople.
Two years ago, Brytnie the Intern sat here at my desk while I explored a few other departments to determine my interest level in potentially pursuing a different position within the company. (Upshot: interest level = zero.) The feedback we received on her seven-week reception coverage mainly centered on her apparent age: "She just sounded really young" said one. "She seems confused at the front desk. Is this her first job?" asked another. A third customer had the gall to say she was rotten and actually complained to Sam, but then again, this particular customer is an unequivocal asshole.
Truthfully, though, she does sound terribly inexperienced.
The trouble is that I'm very good at what I do, which comes mainly from being in the same line of work far longer than anyone not on Xanax ought to be. She, in comparison, was in her fourth year on the six-year plan at the time, at a college out of state with lots of sun and sand and football players, a sorority girl getting her first taste of the workaday world. But now as of last week, Brytnie from Kappa Kappa Gamma is back, ink not yet dry on her shiny new diploma, and she's ready to work!!!1!
Which means her unfortunate communication style is back, too.
It's as though she perpetually speaks around a large wad of bubble gum and never really closes her mouth. The words bounce around only a small forward portion of her hard palate, which doesn't allow her voice to find any gravitas. She's squeaky. Also, as is stereotypical for the sophomoric, each sentence, regardless of intent, ends as if it's a question. To top it off, she employs lazy pronunciation.
Most noticeably, the phrase "Thank you."
"Thank you" is an extremely common thing to say here at Multi National. I say it at least once per call, sometimes twice, and at an average of 20 calls an hour that's a hell of a lot of thanking. Brytnie, though, manages to swallow the vowels in such a way that it comes out sounding like "Think yow", rhyming “yow” with "cow". It's sing-songy and, combined with her head bob, lends to an unfortunate air of vapidity. So when she offers something even remotely intelligent, it's quite the surprise.
After lunch yesterday, she is passing through the lobby on the way to her shiny new desk, when out of nowhere, we find ourselves talking about the price of gasoline. It's going up everywhere, and it's a hot topic with commuters in my neck of the woods. In response to a kvetch on my part, she busts out with, "Yeah, so, like, Ahmejadadin's theory that oil prices are artificially high is probably right on target. I mean, he's finally saying something worth listening to, you know, like, on a global scale."
The butchering of the current Iranian president’s name notwithstanding, I could hardly believe my ears.
It was like experiencing a thirty-second adaptation of Flowers for Algernon. Multi-syllabic words! Sentence structure! Independent critical thinking! And then just as quickly, the eyes glaze over, the hair twirling begins afresh and she starts down the hallway. Silently vowing to read more of the front page and less of the comics, I lamely offer "Oh, um, I guess I missed that article. Good point."
"Think yow." she sing-songs, as she walks.
No, Brytnie. Think yow.
Two years ago, Brytnie the Intern sat here at my desk while I explored a few other departments to determine my interest level in potentially pursuing a different position within the company. (Upshot: interest level = zero.) The feedback we received on her seven-week reception coverage mainly centered on her apparent age: "She just sounded really young" said one. "She seems confused at the front desk. Is this her first job?" asked another. A third customer had the gall to say she was rotten and actually complained to Sam, but then again, this particular customer is an unequivocal asshole.
Truthfully, though, she does sound terribly inexperienced.
The trouble is that I'm very good at what I do, which comes mainly from being in the same line of work far longer than anyone not on Xanax ought to be. She, in comparison, was in her fourth year on the six-year plan at the time, at a college out of state with lots of sun and sand and football players, a sorority girl getting her first taste of the workaday world. But now as of last week, Brytnie from Kappa Kappa Gamma is back, ink not yet dry on her shiny new diploma, and she's ready to work!!!1!
Which means her unfortunate communication style is back, too.
It's as though she perpetually speaks around a large wad of bubble gum and never really closes her mouth. The words bounce around only a small forward portion of her hard palate, which doesn't allow her voice to find any gravitas. She's squeaky. Also, as is stereotypical for the sophomoric, each sentence, regardless of intent, ends as if it's a question. To top it off, she employs lazy pronunciation.
Most noticeably, the phrase "Thank you."
"Thank you" is an extremely common thing to say here at Multi National. I say it at least once per call, sometimes twice, and at an average of 20 calls an hour that's a hell of a lot of thanking. Brytnie, though, manages to swallow the vowels in such a way that it comes out sounding like "Think yow", rhyming “yow” with "cow". It's sing-songy and, combined with her head bob, lends to an unfortunate air of vapidity. So when she offers something even remotely intelligent, it's quite the surprise.
After lunch yesterday, she is passing through the lobby on the way to her shiny new desk, when out of nowhere, we find ourselves talking about the price of gasoline. It's going up everywhere, and it's a hot topic with commuters in my neck of the woods. In response to a kvetch on my part, she busts out with, "Yeah, so, like, Ahmejadadin's theory that oil prices are artificially high is probably right on target. I mean, he's finally saying something worth listening to, you know, like, on a global scale."
The butchering of the current Iranian president’s name notwithstanding, I could hardly believe my ears.
It was like experiencing a thirty-second adaptation of Flowers for Algernon. Multi-syllabic words! Sentence structure! Independent critical thinking! And then just as quickly, the eyes glaze over, the hair twirling begins afresh and she starts down the hallway. Silently vowing to read more of the front page and less of the comics, I lamely offer "Oh, um, I guess I missed that article. Good point."
"Think yow." she sing-songs, as she walks.
No, Brytnie. Think yow.
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