Cubicles. Coffee. Calculating (the % risk your financial endeavors entail). M-F 9 to 5. This kind of confinement can drive any girl to make a few social missteps. Honestly, something about cubicles (and their eerie similarities to a cage)...typing away like a rat on a wheel...it transforms me into a fat, desperate girl with a ravenous appetite for only 2 things: attention and crispy creme donuts. After a few hours of staring blankly into my computer, I start hallucinating...around lunchtime, the 32 year old guy from the HR dept...whose got the wildest chicken legs and the most unsightly gut...starts looking "not so bad"!!! by 5 PM, "he could be on the cover of GQ".
It is in this state of deranged mentality that I completely faux-pauxed my way into social disaster. into a social ditch of hell and fury. That sounds dramatic. It is.
What's an appropriate name for a guy who has chicken legs, belly pudge, and occasionally movie-star good looks...how about, Tom? So one day around 4:55 pm...just when Tom "the guy from HR" was turning into Tom "the guy from Top Gun"...I get a new message on G-chat. It said: "you look beautiful today". It is exactly what I needed in that moment...when I was feeling especially deprived of superficial attention, vulnerable to my sweet-tooth, and dying for some mystery in my life. My instinctual reaction was to reply with something witty, playful, yet dense with sexual innuendos. Unfortunately for me, it was the end of a long day and I felt creatively drained , the best I could come up with: "I was hoping you would notice..."
Then a few minutes later, Tom walks by my cubicle with the largest grin on his face. I thought to myself "that was easy....secret admirer identified, mystery solved...i can live with that" But, then, I get a new message: "grace me with a date...dinner this Friday?" Tom could not have possibly reached his computer that fast, could he have? I was caught off guard. completely confused. To speed this story up (as i am about to pass out in my bed)...the "secret admirer" ended up being this geeky looking freak of nature who works down in the mail room. The mail room, for heaven's sake! Tom knew mystery man was sending me a message...Tom was grinning for his "bro's victory". Ugh, pure disgust.
I felt socially obliged to go on a date with the mailman, especially after his supposed "grand display of affection" (ha!...i always thought "grand display of affection" would involve a prince charming flying me to Paris for the evening, on his private helicopter...but no, I get the mail room guy g-chatting me for a domestic dinner.....at ARBYs!!!!!!). That was all quite traumatic...but the worst part is...Now, we are the office couple!!! And only after one date!! would you believe that? I throw up a little every time I picture other people picturing me and mailman doing ANYTHING together, in the same room...even in a 5-floor radius of one another. The mere thought makes my whole body shudder and twitch in aversion.
As if falling asleep isn't hard enough when you have clinical insomnia...now I've got this horrible incident to keep me tossing and turning.
Until next time,
ElyVas
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