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.