Office Love Pt. 2

Charles did not get an internship at that company, and we thought the best way to get revenge would be for me to sleep my way to the top, and take control of the company, and hire him as a writer. Right. But we did go shopping, and buy a pair of ankle high stiletto boots for me, and I did wear a miniskirt to the office every day.

It did not take long before some assistant editors and paste up guys started asking me to go to lunch with them. Sometimes they simply stood in the doorway and stare at me—to which my boss said, “What? What? Why are you standing there?”

And they said, “Is she busy for lunch?” thus sealing my fate at that office forever.

“How do I know? I don’t keep her social calendar!” He later told me that moment kept him from hiring me as his new assistant editor—I was too much trouble.

The next thing I knew, I was on an outing with them to see Robot Monster in 3-D. Still horny and feeling “friendly”, I asked if anyone wanted to go out for coffee with me afterward, and only one guy said yes. He kind of looked like Howard Stern; very long curly hair, little round glasses, naïve blue eyes, thirties. It turned out he worked for the same company, on a different floor. I took him home with me that night, but it was so unmemorable I did not recognize his voice when he called the next day.

He courted me anyway. And having nothing better to do, I went over his house. As we walked over there from the train station, he pointed out the three-story place with dirty pink siding against a gray sky. When I saw that one window had a zebra print sheet for a shade, I thought, maybe this guy is cooler than he seems. But no, that was not his window, but his roommate’s.

Believe me, I was anxious to meet his roommate.

And I was not disappointed…

Office Love Pt. 1

Seeing as my last post was about sexual harassment, I thought I'd balance out with a good office love story.

It was September, 1991. I don’t know what the big news story was back then, because I was in college, and even though I was in the middle of New York City, in a seriously politically active school, I was busy wrapped up in my own little world of classes, avoiding my stalker ex-boyfriend, and trying to get laid. I didn’t have a tv, either. My main source of entertainment was my tape player, and a mix tape of punk bands that was growing more corrupted by the day.



Now, the main thing about me getting laid, being all cute and hot and 20 years old with long red hair and stuff, is that I am kind of reserved. I never did walk up to a guy and say, “Wanna get laid?” like some kind of hooker, or dance like I was fucking the air, or do anything more flirtatious than flip my hair. The second thing about me, which I learned through painful experiences in high school, is that only a certain kind of guy really digs me. For me, the big telltale signs if a guy is my type, outside of an intelligent looking face, have always been casual clothing with black boots and a four-month-old haircut.



I was a junior, and I had the feeling it was internship time. At the end of my sophomore year, I had planned to start a radio show on WBAI, and some people were interested in working on the thing. But before I could get started on that, my friend Charles called me, and said, “Hey, I was thinking of doing an internship at this comic book company. D’ya want to come?” I guess he was feeling a little daunted. So I said sure. I dressed up in a little business bitch uniform—red long sleeve shirt and a houndstooth miniskirt with black heels—and went to support my friend.



The next thing I knew, I was standing in front of a desk waiting for someone to find me a boss to interview with. I was looking at the “bullpen” a wide-open space full of drawing tables, and tall, good looking men with intelligent faces and four-month-old haircuts and rock’n’roll t-shirts.



This job got me right by the panties. I don’t even remember the interview, just that they asked me some questions, and asked me what days I could work. At that moment, the radio show was forgotten.



More later.

And so, I’ve been looking for work. My boyfriend, hearing that I would be applying at some certain corporation, worries that I would be sexually harassed. “I’m used to it,” I replied, “I’m a pretty girl.”

Here are the “best” occasions of sexual harassment that I have personally experienced.

1. During the interview, the interviewer openly stared at my chest and licked his lips. Repeatedly.
2. When I asked my boss why he hired me, he said, “Are you kidding? I couldn’t let a piece of ass like you walk out my door.”
3. On my first day of an internship at another certain corporation, a short, mustachioed admin assistant invited me into one of the offices, and asked me, “What’s the wildest thing you’ve ever done?” I said, “What do you mean, like skydiving?” He said, “The wildest thing I’ve ever done is have sex with a beautiful blond intern on a desk.”
4. At my first job when I was seventeen, a twenty-five year old co-worker gave me a hug in the basement (which I welcomed), but then he rubbed his hips on me (just half a second), and came. How embarrassing.
5. While I was standing next to a co-worker I thought was my friend, in front of the entire accounting department, he said, “You know what she does all weekend? Have sex! For hours!”
6. One of my bosses at some certain company made me listen to Howard Stern every day, and when it was over, he would tell me that I should break up with my boyfriend and be with him instead. Daily. And when I would say no, daily, he would give me a hard time about something—until I was in tears. This stopped after a few months.

Okay, so there are only six here, but you know, I didn’t want to repeat any work locations or any repeat people. That would be cheating. Ha.

I LOST MY JOB.

And I am a very cool, laid-back, but hard-working admin assistant. I can do just about anything in MS Office Suite, answer the phone, and make travel plans.
Send me a comment, and I'll send you a resume.