A couple of women joined the work team, one of them blonde. I am pleased like a fifteen year old boy who smokes his first cigarette would be -- wanting to be pleased regardless of how he really feels. On the wishlist, this is not as high as you and a blonde chic in the two-seater row, on a trans-Atlantic flight running late. Neither is it as as low as working with a dozen men on an oil field, north of the Arctic Circle. (You can take my word on the last detail.)
As far as the immediate work environment/stream goes, this is a statistical fortune and useless like most statistics, to me at least. Unless Fortune is disposed to a sense of exoticism. Cuban vacations, Ethiopian food, African safari. Visible minorities. Even then, so what?
A group mostly made up of formerly stiff and laconic men is contesting in Casual Conversation Idol and Being Helpful with the Stars.