fandomhigh | The Modern Workplace and You: Friday, period 1

“Look, you guys!” Cheryl greeted the class (sans ocelot today, sorry guys) by waving mass of yarn that might have been some sort of clothing item at the class. “Freaking finally. I've been working on this since, like, last year.”

It was only January, Cheryl. Calm down.

“That’s not as impressive as you think it is,” Pam said brightly. “So, last week we had you all introduce yourselves and list some of your skills, and some of you even had useful ones, which is pretty good. We were supposed to talk about personal safety and I had all these notes written up on the subject but someone can’t keep her damn ocelot from shredding anything that comes out of the printer.”

Not naming names, here, Cheryl.

“It's not my fault that your stupid printer is next to the spot where he likes to shred things!” Cheryl pointed out, all logically. “So, whatever, who cares even about personal safety. You guys aren't going to like, bang your heads on any coffee tables or whatever in the next week or two, right? We'll get there eventually.” Teenagers, Cheryl. Not toddlers.

“For now, we're gonna do self-expression!” And to punctuate that, she was going to start putting on her macramed top. Over her clothes. Don't worry. Cheryl didn't want to share her ta-tas with you any more than most of you probably wanted to see them.

“That’s supposed to be a shirt?” Pam asked incredulously. “That looks like a bunch of spaghetti threw up on itself.”

“It's a bikini,” Cheryl sniffed. “Just because you couldn't get it to fit over even one of your boobs doesn't mean it's not awesome.” GREAT EXAMPLE YOU'RE SETTING, CHERYL.

“Don’t be dissin’ my curves, chicken-legs,” Pam replied. They were besties. Really. “It’s tacky, is what it is. Today we’re gonna talk about expressing yourself outside a work environment. That can be by macrame-ing really hideous slutty tops, like this one over here did, orrrrrr by doing something hugely talented and amazing like I did!”

Pam produced a huge gigantic -- cake-looking thing. Except it was a farm. Done entirely in marzipan and graham crackers. The last time she’d made one, Ms. Archer had poured coffee on it; this one had been kept way the hell away from both Cheryl and her deranged ocelot as a result.

“You can eat that,” Cheryl told the class, now totally wearing a macrame bikini top over a collared shirt like it was the most normal thing ever. “Like, for reals. So we're gonna have you guys, like, tell us about how you...express yourselves, or whatever. And then you're going to do our way better hobbies.”

“Like working up a tag that doesn’t piss off any of the local gangs, but still gets you decent street cred,” Pam agreed. It was weird to hear someone who looked like Pam talk about gang culture, right? Especially when she was holding a cute marzipan farm. “So, let’s do some arts and crafts!”

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Elsa was a touch iffy about this one, sharing anything about herself in front of this particular pair of teachers, but she steeled herself all the same.

"I study, mostly," she admitted. "But I do sometimes enjoy singing."

Mostly alone, where nobody could hear her and get any weird ideas about starting conversations with her about it or something. Which was actually a bit of a crime.

"Not studying," Pam said dismissively. "I mean, shit you do for fun, not shit you do 'cause otherwise you get in trouble. What kinda stuff do you sing?"

"I... mostly just sing anything that comes to mind," Elsa replied, brow furrowing a little at Pam's outright dismissal of her studying. "I suppose I don't really sing any one kind of anything..."

Plus, you know, Broadway wasn't really a thing where she was from.

"What, like whatever you're doing today?" Pam asked. "'IIIIIiiiiiiii am putting away the diiiiiiiiiiiiiiishes! And now I mooooooooooop the floooooooooor!'"

Pam's singing made up in enthusiasm what it lacked in ... tone.

There was... definitely enthusiasm there. Yes.

"... Uh... mostly how I'm feeling, I suppose. Less a running narrative of what I'm up to."

Though there was that sometimes, too.

"You sound like one of those princesses in cartoons," Pam said helpfully. "Singing about her prince showing up 'cause she's got nothing better to do than hang out with, like, birds and shit."

Pam, your meta was throwing like ten different movies into a blender, just fyi.

"I... really don't sing all that much about princes," Elsa replied, raising an eyebrow. "Or spend much time with birds."

Or anyone.

But that princess part was accurate, at least!

"Neeeeeeeeeeerd," Cheryl sang out. "Who likes studying? That's not a hobby."

"It depends on what you're choosing to study," Elsa said primly, even as a flush of pink gave her cheeks a touch of color. "There are plenty of interesting topics to choose to learn about, you know."

"Yeah but there's people you could be talking to or making out with or something instead," Cheryl pointed out helpfully. "Do that. It's way better."

Elsa was almost positive she didn't want to know.

"... Making out with?"

WHY DID SHE KEEP ASKING THESE QUESTIONS?

Pam sighed. "Okay, Skinny McGee," she said. "Haul over here so we can demonstrate for her."

She wasn't into Cheryl -- seriously, who wanted to bang someone that crazy? Not her -- but this was educational.

"Gross. Kissing," Cheryl sniffed, but she obediently wandered over. "Will you choke me a little?"

"Not during, dumbass," Pam facepalmed. "Or else she'll think that's how normal people do it, and end up choking out some dude when he slips her tongue."

Ugh. Cheryl got so pushy with the choking thing.

"But afterwards I'll choke you a little if you don't, you know, bite me or whatever."

You could have just used words, Pam. There is no need to traumatize a Scandinavian princess.

"Biting makes this way better," Cheryl told Elsa informatively. "And whatever, Pam, you're not my supervisor! You can't tell me normal people don't choke each other!"

You know, even if they didn't.

Elsa was learning!

Elsa was learning to never ask questions again. While sitting in her seat, wide-eyed, staring at the teachers in horror.

"Horror" was a pretty fair reaction to the moany, slobbery travesty that was unfolding before Elsa's eyes.

"That wasn't half-bad," Pam said with sincere appreciation when they'd finished. "Okay, and that kind of biting was fine. I just meant, you know, don't tear my lips off and try to drink all the gushing blood that pours out."

Keep piling on the trauma, guys. It's not like Elsa wants to ever have sex.

(I KISS-MODDED LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER. TRY TO STOP ME, BITCHES.)

From his seat, Joker gave them a wolf whistle and waved a few dollar bills in the air.

Pam bowed, and then took the dollar bills. And stuck them in her cleavage for safekeeping.

Hey, money was money. She could use those at the strip club later.

The Modern Workplace and You: Friday, period 1

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