The Office Romance

Thanks to Jake for the invite. He warned me against taking myself too seriously, so I thought I'd take the unique opportunity of this first post to publish something utterly humiliating.

All of my life, I've sort of moved between worlds with an ease I haven't observed in many. I was equally comfortable with and accepted by raging acid-head felons and emotionally crippled computer geeks still living in their parents' basements whose only interaction with the world is through the condom of a modem line. So when I say I work with a bunch of pasty dorks, it should be understood I say that as a pasty dork who's had the possible advantage of having been around enough to realize it.

Not all of my coworkers are pasty dorks, though. Meet the AMs. There's L, who has the distinction of being one of like ten women I've met since the age of sixteen who's taller than me. She has striking Nordic features, long blonde hair, green eyes, a body that would make angels lament not being able to breed with her. S, a cute, tiny Italian girl. Innocent as a lamb. Tries constantly to trick me and always fails because she is too damned innocent to be truly deceptive--most endearing. There's B, a sensible girl with a good head on her shoulders. Studied psychology. I can tell by the glint in her eye she knows how to party. Then there's H, a tall, thin, cute hippy chick. She's sweet as can be and is genuinely shocked and fascinated by the atrocities that spill from my mouth with such ease.

I'm in a unique position in the company because I work directly with the systems that not only the AMs, but all the other hot chicks in the office, use daily. As of six months ago, they fired the other guy who could handle all of their issues and I'm now the only person they can go to. Most internal company communications happen either through email or, more often, IRC. So, my days are spent working closely with all of these lovely women, helping them with their various daily issues that inevitably arise. Translation: I spend all day flirting mercilessly with all of them.

I know where the line is and I'm very careful to never cross it. I'll get really damn close, but back off at the last minute. They love it. I love it. No restraining orders.

The company has been doing a lot of hiring lately. One of the latest to come on board was an independent contractor they brought in to do graphic arts work. The problem is, there isn't enough space in the office, so they've had to put the new hires in makeshift work areas at the ends of meeting tables in each group. The graphic artist ended up directly behind me. It caused quite a buzz on IRC the morning I came in to find her sitting there, a cute blonde who has done some modeling, appearing out of nowhere, without warning, like the Monolith in 2001.

osm: Dude!
boss: hehehe! I knew you'd like that... (my infatuation with pretty much every girl in the office is well-known).

Little did I know that electronic grunt, like a protohuman who had just awakened to find a giant, shrieking black slab planted in front of his cave sometime in the night, was my first nudge down a runaway mountain path without any good sense or self-control to brake me.

Over the weeks, C and I began to talk more and more. We were both shocked to find out we are the same age... we both thought the other was much younger. We discovered a mutual fondness for Land of the Lost. I gave her "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" to read and she loved it. With each day, the flirting grew in intensity. This wasn't the AM-style flirting that mostly just made work fun, it was flirting that was leading to the inevitable. I started leaving her candy in the morning... I'd give her lollipops, M&Ms, whatever. She'd always giggle. Then it was time to start my vacation, starting the day before Thanksgiving and ending the Monday the 8th.

We continued to email during the first few days of my vacation. The emails grew in intensity and I asked if she might want to hang out. She was agreeable, but said I should know that she was sort-of seeing someone else from the company, mostly as friends. I said I'd think it over.

I have a certain class of stories I tell that always begin with the same sentence: "One of my cousins came over" and always end in pain and humiliation.

And so, last Tuesday, my cousin came over. She needed some money and wondered if I wanted to buy some Xanax. She gets good Xanax. I can never refuse, even though it always... ALWAYS... gets me in trouble. I bought thirty. Probably took ten by the time she left my apartment.

I know most people have drunk-dialed someone and regretted it later. But at least that conversation is lost, eventually. The details become murky over time. It's easier to get over that sort of thing. But, I like to do it up right. I drunk email... or Xanax stupor email. It is far, far worse. And that is exactly what I did. Throwing any semblance of pride or good taste completely out the window, I sent C an email. Not just any email, I sent her a poem singing the praises of her beauty, her effect on me and my frustration at not being able to get closer.

I sent the poem (and I use that term very loosely) without hesitation and immediately passed out.

The next morning, through the fog of a Xanax coma, I vaguely recalled sending something to C. Cringing, I looked through my sent mail folder to see what exercise in shame and humiliation I had practised the night before. This, to my utter horror, is what I found:

Venus covers herself as she stands on her shell.
Admire her beauty from afar, you will never get close.
She touches you with numb hands. You feel her warmth, but she feels nothing.
The scent of her hair would shame any flower, but flowers are the only
fragrance you will enjoy.
In her eyes you see the beauty of ages. She is blind to you.
Venus - warm and kind, beautiful and funny, artistic and wise, loving and
kind, caring and
interesting.
A work of art wrapped in a shell you will never encroach.

No, I'm not proud. This trash sits in my sent mail folder, a constant humiliating reminder of my senselessness. Like a splinter that can't be removed, constantly evoking shame, humiliation and self-loathing.

I haven't heard from C since.

I'm not looking forward to Monday. But at least she stayed upstairs and they moved my team, along with the AMs and every other team with all the hot women downstairs to remedy the increasing lack of space in the office.

Misery loves company. I'd love to hear similar stories from others...