An Inappropriate Meal

(The small business I work for has just been bought. My previous boss was short-tempered, informal, and had a vocabulary that could make a drill sergeant blush. I’m meeting with my new boss — a very professional, calm woman who’s a proponent of yoga. We’re just wrapping up when she glances at the clock.)

Boss: “I had no idea it was so late! Do you mind if I call [Popular Restaurant]? Looks like I’m picking up dinner tonight.”

Me: “Of course.”

(My boss picks up her phone and pauses.)

Boss: *laughs* “I don’t suppose you know their number off the top of your head?”

Me: “Let me see the number pad.” *I look at the phone* “It’s [prefix] “2… 7… 2… 7.”

Boss: “What were you looking at?”

Me: “The letters. Their number… spells… something.”

Boss: *studying the keys* “It does? What?”

Me: *panicked but seeing no way out* “It spells c***.”

Boss: “It does?” *looks closer at keys and suddenly becomes excited* “Oh, my GOD! It DOES! That’s fantastic! I’ll never forget that now. Do you suppose [Restaurant manager] knows? Oh, I can’t WAIT to tell him!”

(Working with my new boss has been lots of fun.)