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Posted: Fri Apr 11, 2008 7:15 pm
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Posted: Sat Apr 12, 2008 5:10 am
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Posted: Sun Apr 13, 2008 3:23 am
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((Heh, I'm with Jim. This is, indeed, an odd one. I'm totally in. Since there aren't many...rules...given.... I spose I'll just wing it?))
Isabelle marched crisply through the front doors, lips pursed and back rigid to the point of being arched. Her navy blue cardigan and long skirt rustled slightly as she moved, the sound of clothes that were clean to the point of obsession, and her stilettos clicked pertly. The tight, brunette bun clinging to the back of her head did not yield to movement. At all.
"You're doing great," she silently told herself, clutching a clipboard to her chest tightly. "It's all about looking the part. You have to look business, or they'll take you to be a pushover. Just keep your chin up and your face sour, Isabelle White. You're doing grea-"
With a loud "SNAP!", one of her pristine black heels collapsed beneath her, sending her tumbling to the side like a falling sequoia, her arms flying above her head and face frozen in slightly wide-eyed bitterness...
Glancing at the damage to her brand new shoes, her mouth dropped open slightly, a frustrated curse spilling from it before she could compose herself once more. "Oh....FRUITCAKE!"
There was only a moment of hesitation as she analyzed, with much embarassement, what had just happened. Springing back up as quickly as was possible, with as much crispness as was possible, she snatched the offending heel from the ground and hobbled onward. She stopped at the podium, gazing at the host with steely blue eyes, a foot tapping irritatedly.
"My name is Isabelle White, and I am the health inspector today," she annunciated.
She resisted the urge to sigh sadly. "The health inspector of Olive Garden... You didn't work your way vigorously through culinary arts school to be the health inspector of Olive Garden...."
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Posted: Sun Apr 13, 2008 5:24 am
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Posted: Thu May 22, 2008 2:09 pm
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Posted: Fri Jun 06, 2008 10:58 pm
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Profitable Conversationalist
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Posted: Fri Jun 06, 2008 11:15 pm
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(( ))
Connell glanced from where he stood, watching essentially nothing. He stared at the same place in the wall for what seemed like hours, though it was only a few minutes. The periods of down time on the job was usually the worse part, at least in his eyes. He didn't mind the people too much, and he loved to see what the chefs made, but the waiting and the lack of action, it drove him antsy. He turned his head at the right time though to see some woman tackle another man who yelled something about his stick being up.
"W... Whoa!" He said as he ran over, dashing past the counter guy and pulling the guy off the girl, unknowingly knocking down and clumsily kicking the gun out of the way. "Now, now... I understand that his stick is up, but that's no reason to tackle him, ma'am!" He said frankly, oblivious to what actually happened. "You need to act with the etiquette and manners of a woman at all times!"
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Posted: Fri Jun 06, 2008 11:42 pm
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Profitable Conversationalist
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Posted: Fri Jun 06, 2008 11:53 pm
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Connell looked at the guy blankly for a few moments. His mind just didn't register that the gun holster, his clothing, the commotion, and the other weird oddities of his costume equaled robber. After all, of all places to rob, why an Olive Garden.
"He's... a robber...?" He said with the innocence of a simpleton. "So he didn't have his stick up then. Well in that case..."
With a quick grasp of the man's wrists he jerked him out of the door and literally kicked him into the parking lot. "I'm sorry about all this, ma'am." He said, regaining his work composure, which, for some reason, he performed well.
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Posted: Sat Jun 07, 2008 8:05 am
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Profitable Conversationalist
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