How To Totally Be a Spy, For Real (We Mean It), Friday
Happy Halloween! Your teachers hadn’t remembered to bring candy -- but really, wasn’t that a good thing? Considering Pam and Cheryl, they probably would have given you weird unlabeled pills and insisted they were SweetTarts.
Your teachers were, however, in Halloween costumes. Pam was wearing a blonde-tinted-down-to-pink wig, a black leotard with silver stars on it, and black fishnet stockings. Okay, so she was cold. Some costumes were worth freezing for, okay?
You know who wasn't cold? Cheryl. Mostly because she didn't have a costume so much as a warm, fleecy dressing gown.
She'd wanted to just come to class naked, but something something Pam, something something flu. She was mostly just glad to have pockets big enough for a flask.
Hey, if Pam wasn’t allowed to come dressed in whipped cream, then Cheryl wasn’t allowed, either. (Although, realistically, Cheryl wouldn’t give a shit that Pam came to class in whipped cream, so it was still Pam holding up the Naked Teacher Train. And keeping all of you from being scarred for life.)
“I can’t believe we have class on a holiday,” Pam said. “They’re not gonna make us teach over Christmas, are they?”
Pam, most schools had class on Halloween. Seriously.
"I'm getting drunk with baby Jesus on Christmas, anyway, so you can do that shit by yourself," Cheryl told her, stretching out on a desktop. "I'm getting visited by three wise men -- Jack, Jameson, and Jose."
And that was the most coherent Cheryl would be for the rest of class, kids!
"Why the fuck are you people even here, seriously? Shouldn't you be getting drunk or overdosing on sugar or smashing pumpkins?"
“Great band,” Pam said, completely missing the point. What? She was wasted, too. If you dressed up like Xtina, you ought to be hitting the sauce pretty hard. (As if Pam needed an excuse, anyway.) “Right, so we’re gonna talk about an important part of being spies today, and that’s not dressing up in costumes, ‘cause we already did that. I wish we had realized we were gonna have class on Halloween. Our syllabus is totally ruined now.”
Stuff that no one but Pam cared about, episode #82930.
“Aaaaaaaanyhoo,” she continued, “today’s also important. How to fake your expense account!!!”
From her tone of voice, you’d think she’d just announced that they WERE giving out candy.
"Whoo."
Sorry, that was Cheryl's enthusiasm knocking all of you over, there.
"Who the fuck cares? Way to be even more boring, Pam."
“Expense reports are important!” Pam screeched. “Maybe not to Scrooge McSkank over here, because she’s got plenty of money. But most of you are broke as shit. And you probably will be your whole lives, since you’re not exactly on the fast-track to success here.”
Point A: they were taking Pam and Cheryl’s class.
“So let’s say you leave this island and get a miserable, shitty job, which is exactly what’s going to happen to you. And one day, your miserable, shitty job sends you on a weeklong conference to Monaco. Jackpot, right?! Wrong! Your miserable, shitty job’s only gonna pay for official expenses -- like the cheapest hotel room they can find, and some crappy per diem for food that wouldn’t feed one of those models who lives off Diet Coke and cigarettes. Which means you’re in beautiful Monaco, but you’re fucking broke. How are you supposed to go gambling with foreign whores in Monaco like that?!”
"Oh god, just kill me," Cheryl groaned, throwing her arm over her eyes. Seriously, if she just crawled under the desk and fell asleep, would Pam even notice?
(Probably not.)
“The trick is,” Pam said, excitedly, “to pad your reports. You’ve gotta toe the line of bullshit just right. Take a cheap flight, claim it was a more expensive one, and blow the difference on European smack. Round up creatively. Pack food, so you can spend your per diem on strippers in Amsterdam.”
She was really enthusiastic about this subject. So much so that she didn’t even glance over as Cheryl began climbing under the desk.
“But don’t go overboard,” she cautioned. “If you try insisting you spent three zillion dollars on a rocketship, or the hotel only had gold-plated food, you are gonna get audited so fast. So hang onto your receipts. Take some important contacts out for dinner, and then insist you had to cover. Get receipts from other people who are living it up, or have someone in your office who knows how to fake ‘em convincingly. So! Today you’re gonna take a crack at that, writing up a believable-but-fake expense report. Make it good! Don’t get audited! And Cheryl --”
Oh. Cheryl was under the desk, snoring. Right.
“Some days, I reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally fucking hate her,” Pam said.
Educational as always, Pam.
Your teachers were, however, in Halloween costumes. Pam was wearing a blonde-tinted-down-to-pink wig, a black leotard with silver stars on it, and black fishnet stockings. Okay, so she was cold. Some costumes were worth freezing for, okay?
You know who wasn't cold? Cheryl. Mostly because she didn't have a costume so much as a warm, fleecy dressing gown.
She'd wanted to just come to class naked, but something something Pam, something something flu. She was mostly just glad to have pockets big enough for a flask.
Hey, if Pam wasn’t allowed to come dressed in whipped cream, then Cheryl wasn’t allowed, either. (Although, realistically, Cheryl wouldn’t give a shit that Pam came to class in whipped cream, so it was still Pam holding up the Naked Teacher Train. And keeping all of you from being scarred for life.)
“I can’t believe we have class on a holiday,” Pam said. “They’re not gonna make us teach over Christmas, are they?”
Pam, most schools had class on Halloween. Seriously.
"I'm getting drunk with baby Jesus on Christmas, anyway, so you can do that shit by yourself," Cheryl told her, stretching out on a desktop. "I'm getting visited by three wise men -- Jack, Jameson, and Jose."
And that was the most coherent Cheryl would be for the rest of class, kids!
"Why the fuck are you people even here, seriously? Shouldn't you be getting drunk or overdosing on sugar or smashing pumpkins?"
“Great band,” Pam said, completely missing the point. What? She was wasted, too. If you dressed up like Xtina, you ought to be hitting the sauce pretty hard. (As if Pam needed an excuse, anyway.) “Right, so we’re gonna talk about an important part of being spies today, and that’s not dressing up in costumes, ‘cause we already did that. I wish we had realized we were gonna have class on Halloween. Our syllabus is totally ruined now.”
Stuff that no one but Pam cared about, episode #82930.
“Aaaaaaaanyhoo,” she continued, “today’s also important. How to fake your expense account!!!”
From her tone of voice, you’d think she’d just announced that they WERE giving out candy.
"Whoo."
Sorry, that was Cheryl's enthusiasm knocking all of you over, there.
"Who the fuck cares? Way to be even more boring, Pam."
“Expense reports are important!” Pam screeched. “Maybe not to Scrooge McSkank over here, because she’s got plenty of money. But most of you are broke as shit. And you probably will be your whole lives, since you’re not exactly on the fast-track to success here.”
Point A: they were taking Pam and Cheryl’s class.
“So let’s say you leave this island and get a miserable, shitty job, which is exactly what’s going to happen to you. And one day, your miserable, shitty job sends you on a weeklong conference to Monaco. Jackpot, right?! Wrong! Your miserable, shitty job’s only gonna pay for official expenses -- like the cheapest hotel room they can find, and some crappy per diem for food that wouldn’t feed one of those models who lives off Diet Coke and cigarettes. Which means you’re in beautiful Monaco, but you’re fucking broke. How are you supposed to go gambling with foreign whores in Monaco like that?!”
"Oh god, just kill me," Cheryl groaned, throwing her arm over her eyes. Seriously, if she just crawled under the desk and fell asleep, would Pam even notice?
(Probably not.)
“The trick is,” Pam said, excitedly, “to pad your reports. You’ve gotta toe the line of bullshit just right. Take a cheap flight, claim it was a more expensive one, and blow the difference on European smack. Round up creatively. Pack food, so you can spend your per diem on strippers in Amsterdam.”
She was really enthusiastic about this subject. So much so that she didn’t even glance over as Cheryl began climbing under the desk.
“But don’t go overboard,” she cautioned. “If you try insisting you spent three zillion dollars on a rocketship, or the hotel only had gold-plated food, you are gonna get audited so fast. So hang onto your receipts. Take some important contacts out for dinner, and then insist you had to cover. Get receipts from other people who are living it up, or have someone in your office who knows how to fake ‘em convincingly. So! Today you’re gonna take a crack at that, writing up a believable-but-fake expense report. Make it good! Don’t get audited! And Cheryl --”
Oh. Cheryl was under the desk, snoring. Right.
“Some days, I reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally fucking hate her,” Pam said.
Educational as always, Pam.