Where I come from -- and maybe where you come from -- we have a saying: You can dress him up, but you can't take him out. Sometimes, though, you apparently can't even dress them up. Saturday -- and this is going to be a seven-days-a-week project for the most part -- there was at least one person who didn't understand the difference between "casual" and "disgusting." We were told we could dress casual on weekends -- up to and including shorts, I guess, because a couple of the staff attorneys from the firms were wearing shorts. Naturally, one temp took shit a bridge too far.
The dude is probably 100 years old, and so has nothing left to be ashamed of, I guess. He's about 5'10'', 45 or 50 pounds. OK, he's really probably about 140, and not a day over 60, but he is a skinny, old motherfucker who cannot seem to get the top of his pants and the bottom of his tee-shirt to meet. No shit, there was a four-inch strip of flesh between his shirt and pants, and it wasn't because his shirt was too short. His pants were at a level that did not border on vulgar -- they had reached the level of oh-fuck-I'm-going-to-puke-I-can't-fucking-believe-this-shit. The woman sitting next to me used the phrase "pubic hair" five times in describing this guy to me after she saw him in the kitchen. She was so appalled, I figured she was exaggerating.
A while later, I saw the dude in the hallway. She wasn't. Thank God I only saw him from behind, from a distance. Even that view was bad enough.
On the up side, he was the subject of an announcement by the firm that afternoon, letting us know that dressing like a disgusting motherfucker was not acceptable. So there's that.
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