My account coordinator is a peacock. "Peacock" is the term my friends and I have given to any big-haired, heavily make-up'd Dallas girl tripping about at any given moment with a vodka cocktail and a purse the size of my car hanging from the crook of her arm. They always smell of Red Bull. It's an affectionate term when I use it on my AC, but generally speaking these girls are obnoxious. Their own particular bird call is "LET'S CROSS THE STREET HERE... BITCHES!!" And then they stumble out in front of my car in Uptown, causing traffic to back up while they totter slowly in heels, talking about that cute boy that just bought them a Jaeger Bomb.
Anyhoodle, my AC had quite the peacock-y moment this morning. When asked where the supplies for our 1:00 meeting were she replied, "Oh, they're in my roommate's car. My car is still in valet."
I laughed quite a bit and asked how she was feeling this post-Manic Monday morning. She eyed me quizzically and said, "I'm fine, why?" I said, "Well, usually when I accidentally leave my car in valet the night before I have a doozy of a headache the next morning."
She laughed and said, "No, bitch! It's been there since Saturday!! Whoopsie!"
Ah, youth. I shouldn't be too quick to judge, though. My debit card has been at the same bar for over a month now. Whoopsie!