Unspoken communication

When I was working at Kinko's, we became masters of the unspoken word. It was probably the best team envionment I ever worked in (at least until my current job) because there was simply an unspoken understanding. A comraderie that had us working and playing efficiently - thoughts attuned to each other as our communicative abilities were tempered by the heat of customer service.

Sometimes entire thought processes could be shared by the utterance of a single word and the briefest meeting of eyes. Context coalesced into perfect understanding with no further need for reasoning.

Towards the end of my time there, there came a new employee, and to protect the innocent I will call her Donna.

Donna had a weird ass. There's no other way to put it. It wasn't big, exactly. Just... oddly shaped. young Donna was a petite, charming, intelligent young lady. She just had this weird bubble butt thing going on that made it look like she had the kind of comically large padding one might to expect to see on Billy Crystal after his unfortunate experience in Pamplona in the opening credits of City Slickers.

I remember the day she started working. Her father dropped her off, which isn't unusual in and of itself. The weird part was that he came in to introduce himself to everyone who had been inducted into the exclusive club of "people my daughter works with". He was nice enough, but it just drew attention to poor Donna. Most of us hadn't met her prior to her start date, I guess she'd interviewed with the manager and no one had ever really seen her before.
Why was this guy so interested in meeting us all? My mother hadn't accompanied me to anything since my high school orientation.

I think he was there to protect his daughter. I think he was acutely aware of this distinctive characteristic. I can only conclude that he was concerned that Donna would become an object of ridicule because of her strange ass. Maybe his presence was intended as an unspoken warning, that we were to be nice to his daughter. This is like an overprotective mother supplying cake to a class of kids on their child's birthday.

Let me interject here, interrupt the flow of my own narrative to make something clear. I am not criticising Donna. She had done nothing wrong. She was nice. I'm not trying to make a big deal out of the shape of her ass, because hell, I am no fucking prize in the visual appeal department. I'm just stating the facts.
Her ass wasn't offputting, just... irregular. Am I still coming across like a shallow asshole? Ok, probably. Judgement entered. Motion carried. I am rightfully sentenced to your hateful remarks, assuming anyone ever reads this and feels the need to comment.

Here's the thing. No one ridiculed Donna. The whole matter was so weird that no one had to say anything. The first time Donna turned side-on to wave her father goodbye, there it was. Everyone saw it. We averted our eyes. That profile would stay with us forever.

Hours later, I was drilling holes in some thick documents while Marty worked opposite me, doing some binding. Our eyes met. Mine flicked off to the right, and because our respective stations were more or less in the far corner I was pretty much sweeping the entire store.
He smiled, half-shrugged, then bowed his head to his work.  Nothing needed to be said.

The subject was never raised again.