The Intern

In the week that I was away gallivanting in Vietnam, a new intern came into our office.
Since there was an empty spot at my desk, she was asked to fill my space until I am back from vacation.
.
.
.
.
I arrived at work unusually early that morning, and happily returned to my seat.

About half an hour later, the intern arrived in the office and made a beeline to the seat that she has grown accustomed to in the past 1 week, which of course I was perched prettily on.

Intern (to me): Isabelle?
Me: No, it's Muthu.
Intern: Where's Isabelle? And why are you sitting on Isabelle's seat? So where am I supposed to seat?
Me: Isabelle vas eaten up by me. Hee Hee Hee, and now I am going to eatchu!

The intern started crying.

Intern: Why, you are a horrible, horrible person and I hate you!
.
.
.
.

Fine... that didn't happen. The intern wasn't a bimbo, and the conversation above didn't happen beyond the 1st line.

Being the nice AE that I am, I showed her to her new seat, and brought her some draft paper from my stash to doodle on.

But if I didn't talk about what went on in my head, there wouldn't be an entry, would there?