Viril, virtual, viral

Chapter 4. The meeting

I put Mîr to clean.

"Yeah," he muttered. That's all I'm good at.

It made me feel guilty.

He fixed my shirt collar though. He had a precise eye and would always pick up on something wrong with me. I didn't care, but he (although I can change his gender as needed) always wanted me to be accepted by others, i.e. fashionable.

Sometimes he arranged it for me in a calculated mess.

If, according to the fashion sites, the collar had to be drilled or stained or hemmed, that's all he had to wait.

Thus prepared, I sat in front of the monitor.

On the screen it was written: TONIGHT WE HAVE THYME TEA, ALSO CALLED "THE CUCKOO'S RISE". IT HAS HEALING AND REVIVORATING PROPERTIES.

I pressed the option because: the tea was ready instantly. Already poured into a simulacrum of a mug inscribed with the symbols of my zodiac. I blew into it.

The monitor had already divided into quadrants with the faces of my colleagues.

I leaned back in the chair, not even curious about what was going to happen next.

Delia, a blonde with braided hair, a large, pointed nose above thin lips, a sparkling white t-shirt that exposed her big tits and pinched her nipples. The role of the shirt was to show off her tits.

(for me no, that I had fucks simulator)

She was the boss. Something stood out.

That afternoon he proposed:

"Today we will do smiling exercises. The smile is very important. It opens the way to our customer."

Dan, a bald and scrawny guy, dressed in a shabby jacket over a briefcase that highlighted his ribs, continued with a beard that wanted the imprint of a crushed bat on his cheek, always pleased the boss. We don't know what he was after.

So he smiled as deeply as possible.

And he asked a helpful question:

"But if the client is not present? That is, how is the specificity of our activity, to follow others without letting yourself be seen."

"Good question, Dan."

We all gave lays, some even adorations and hearts. Emoticons flew across the dials.

"Smiling doesn't always mean physical closeness, she shook her tits, although it implies it. With a smile, you open up to the one from afar, so that he too will have to open up to you in turn. Think positive, that's the key. Let me see you too."

We all smiled.

"You don't smile with all your heart."

It was as if he was looking at me.

"Who?"

"You."

It was really about me. He placed the cursor hand on the dial with my face, zoomed in on the micro-expressions around the lips.

"What is this?" she admonished me.

"Maybe a little tired."

"Aren't you getting enough rest, you poor thing? Do you have insomnia? Need more time for beauty sleep?"

I knew that could mean finding something else to do, whether it was refreshing or not.

How did it happen with my colleague (what was her name?). He didn't come to a meeting, citing an indisposition. As the cameras locked in on her (what, you think you can get away even if you turn off the power?), a sad, tired expression spread across the screen. The next day he was kicked out.

Besides, he got old. Wrinkles formed on his face. It was stipulated in the employment contract: if you leave us, you also lose the appearance of youth, which only this contract can give. After, you will wither like a flower that no one looks at. And which some people use to piss off.

You look like a wrinkly dick after you stop working anyway. That's because you no longer allow your sensors to smooth your skin.

"So? she insisted, seeing that I didn't answer her."

I smiled how happy I succeeded.

She looked pleased. Or he didn't want to mess with me anymore. He may consider me a crack in any semblance of happiness.

Then he asked us to show him how we re-relaxed. On the group platform, called haicuveselia 123.ro, everyone displayed their pictures taken recently (although a few dared to come with memories and were praised for the sensitivity they showed).

They were like this: in front of the mirror, with newly purchased clothes, at a barbecue, with friends, in the park, at a concert, in the old tram station, with the newly adopted child, and so on. The viewers let out shouts of delight and filled every millimeter of the picture with emoticons reflecting as varied a range of emotions as possible. They weren't always the most appropriate, but it was important that you threw in some emotion.

I sent everyone hearts and posted several snaps of me walking out the door. Neither the neck nor the nose were to be excluded.

In general it was good, however the boss criticized me for my lack of imagination.

Good thing I escaped this time too.