I just had a rather disturbing conversation with my boss. These happen quite often, actually, but that’s not the point. We’ve been working on getting me some of the “professional” uniforms, and have had troubles getting the folks in Indianapolis to get on the ball with it. It’s causing problems up here for both me and Gary. Anyways, I have to go tonight and try on blazers to get an appropriate size so hopefully we’ll get that straightened out. But if the ones they send up this time still don’t work, I’ll be purchasing my own pants, and blazers and will be reimbursed by the company. I was complaining about the white shirts being nearly see-through, and Gary brought up that I’d just have to wear a tshirt or something underneath them. This, of course, led to a discussion of one of the previous receptionists who wore a slip under her white shirts, due to the rather large amount of… ahem… real estate her nipples required. Actually, I think the exact words Gary used were “she looked like an Aborigine.” Yeah… I’ve been taken into the “boys club,” and sometimes, I’m not entirely convinced I want to be there.