mysteries of the cheekbone

INTERN has finally figured out why there is always a handful of tall, unemotive, strangely intimidating young women standing by the bathroom mirror doing their makeup. It took some teen-detective-style snooping (following one of these women down the hall after her impeccably timed yet tiger-like exodus from the bathroom) but INTERN can now report with 100% confidence that there is some kind of obscure modeling agency at the back of the building, staffed by two male director-like people who were speaking to each other in Swedish.

INTERN wonders what it would be like if the modeling agency and Wusiness Beek did a swap for a day, the Wusiness Beekers hanging around bathrooms looking leonine and the models snickering over their stocks as they rode the elevator down at lunchtime to get some very large falafel from the place next door.

While she was at it, INTERN also (somehow) managed to snoop her way into an aged architect's office and was duly directed to the appropriate exit door—but not before getting an eyeful of his NEFARIOUS PLANS for Gotham City...

(today INTERN has been charged with a lot of tasks that fall under the Mailing Stuff category, and is feeling a little desperate for stimulation...)