Ask Lemmy
A Fediverse community for open-ended, thought provoking questions
Rules: (interactive)
1) Be nice and; have fun
Doxxing, trolling, sealioning, racism, and toxicity are not welcomed in AskLemmy. Remember what your mother said: if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all. In addition, the site-wide Lemmy.world terms of service also apply here. Please familiarize yourself with them
2) All posts must end with a '?'
This is sort of like Jeopardy. Please phrase all post titles in the form of a proper question ending with ?
3) No spam
Please do not flood the community with nonsense. Actual suspected spammers will be banned on site. No astroturfing.
4) NSFW is okay, within reason
Just remember to tag posts with either a content warning or a [NSFW] tag. Overtly sexual posts are not allowed, please direct them to either [email protected] or [email protected].
NSFW comments should be restricted to posts tagged [NSFW].
5) This is not a support community.
It is not a place for 'how do I?', type questions.
If you have any questions regarding the site itself or would like to report a community, please direct them to Lemmy.world Support or email [email protected]. For other questions check our partnered communities list, or use the search function.
Reminder: The terms of service apply here too.
Partnered Communities:
Logo design credit goes to: tubbadu
view the rest of the comments
Our open office of five desks and 3-5 people was on the second floor; right outside our office was a short hall of 3 individual offices, but the people in the offices were often out of the office. We'd mostly all worked together for years by then, got along well, and were pretty informal.
We had an absolutely wonderful (if slightly ditzy) girl named Chrissy join the office one summer, fresh out of high school. She liked to dress up very stylishly - not like office wear, but like a popular cheerleader might wear to class, if that makes sense?
Anyway, we're in the office one day, and Chrissy ducks out, then comes back in like one minute later, face absolutely flaming red. We ask what's wrong and she could only stammer in response. She eventually got herself under control and said:
She'd stepped out to run some papers downstairs and, as she left the office, she felt her pantyhose start to sag, so she quickly ducked into one of the side offices, pulled up her skirt, and pulled her hose back up to the top of her thighs. When she looked up, there was a window-washer hanging off the side of the building, slowly and calmly wiping his squeegee back and forth across the window, looking directly at her and smiling kindly. She stared at him, mouth open, while he continued his slow, calm, almost meditative squgeeing across the window. As soon as her mind processed "unexpected man outside second floor window", she bolted back to us.
It was literally like something directly out of a sitcom.