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Fuck Politeness

This is a revolution, not a public relations movement

I just had a small incident at work in which I thought of taking a picture on my mobile phone as evidence.

Which gave me a flashback to the last time I’d had to do this.

I was new to the small inner city firm for which I worked at that time and had been sent to ‘uplift evidence’. I’d done that before, and essentially you asked for certain files of evidence and rifled through documents for relevant reports etc.

This time was different in that I was asked to uplift breast implants. Oh god. The puns just create themselves.

The backstory is that an implant had ruptured, and they’d been removed, and the woman was attempting to sue the manufacturers, but they were denying that they were implants made by them. So it was my job to look for any identifying marks. Wow. I felt a little Erin Brokovitch let me tell you. I mean…she was a lawyer, and there were boobs involved.

So I open this box, and there they are. Two waxy looking plastic implants like jellyfish without the legs. I try to take a moment to get over the nausea of ‘Hey, these were…in her body…which means they were…gulp…cut out’ and dive in.

Lo and behold…ta dah…there is the denying manufacturers BRAND STAMP smack bang in the middle.

I am GLEEFUL I tell you – GLEEFUL. It takes a lot of self control not to squeal “YES, we WIN!”.

So I call my boss on my mobile and go, well…what now?

He says ‘Photocopy them please’. I…what? Oh…he really *did* just order me to photocopy the implants.

My boss being a scary little dude I did exactly what was asked of me. I had to line up in the very busy photocopy area, a fake boozie in each hand, trying not to drop them (cos they wriggle and flop about like those strange kids novelty toy tube-shaped things they sell in science shops which I have to say I always kinda think they shouldn’t cos they’re vaguely reminiscent of an adult sized flaccid penis and I don’t think that’s a great resemblance for a kid’s toy to have).

I got some strange looks. Then of course photocopiers being instruments of the devil, the photocopies were not working out too well and really I was starting to get nervous that the heat would stick the bastards to the glass and they’d melt and ooze everywhere and I’d lose the precious evidence for our client.

I’m a resourceful woman, so I whip out my phone. It’s an old and dodgy camera phone (this is about six years ago) and I’m holding one implant in my right hand and trying to line up the phone for maximum clarity which involved a lot of moving in and moving out and squinting.

After a few minutes of this I look up to see quite an attractive young man glancing at me in puzzlement and to be honest, some considerable intrigue. He really looked like he wanted to start a conversation, or ask some questions but could not for the life of him figure out how to start it.

I think ‘Damn, I wish I was doing something ELSE right now’ and heady with the rush of victory at it being so EASY and giddy with the awkwardness of being caught photographing a fake boob on my camera phone (and being LONG past my ability to have a cool collected chat with a hot guy given I’d been celibate for a time frame WAY beyond my own choosing) I blurt randomly ‘Oh, they’re not MINE! Hahaha’. Smooth.

Good times. Under cooler conditions, let it be said I would have whipped out a one-liner about photographing breasts for evidence purposes only, or something sassy. Sigh.

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