The lovely thing about a holiday week is that most people schedule their trips around it. With less staff around, the office is quiet as a convent. There's joy to be had in simply working, this is usually the case when you're not answering countless emails people send off to make it look like they are when they're not, or going to one pointless meeting after the other. Or even, over-hearing the put-on cheeriness of the usual brown nosers smearing themselves up and down the hallways.
When your gag reflex isn't getting engaged, it generally becomes easier to concentrate. I'd finally conquered a piece of technical writing I'd grappled with, so much so the Saggable Boss begrudgingly admitted it "sounds about right", unable to find fault with either my data or the fact that regular human beings can make sense of it. I'm solo-gloating at my desk when Mr. X calls again, who after greeting me perfunctorily by asking for the Saggable Boss makes it known that wasn't at all the real reason he'd rung. "So..,"he twangs, "are you really NOT going to Face Crack friend me? I got in trouble for it, you know."
I feel immediately guilty, "What do you mean, got in trouble?? This is just your second time calling here, how can you possibly have got reamed for it already?"
I try to sound nonchalant, since not even minutes ago Kentucky had used the same ploy by telling me how woefully he missed someone (i.e. me) when I'd asked him how he was. He came across so forlorn, I immediately pictured his bright golden head bent low with pining while he used a foot to wistfully trace my name in the dirt.
I'm sure he was freshly intact in his dust-free air-conditioned office, but Men it seems, are very highly skilled at Beguilting and have no issues extrapolating the same techniques they used to obtain toys in childhood to well, obtaining You. I'm silently shaking my head with the requisite eye roll when Mr. X explains how a co-worker had ratted him out.
I feel immediately guilty, "What do you mean, got in trouble?? This is just your second time calling here, how can you possibly have got reamed for it already?"
I try to sound nonchalant, since not even minutes ago Kentucky had used the same ploy by telling me how woefully he missed someone (i.e. me) when I'd asked him how he was. He came across so forlorn, I immediately pictured his bright golden head bent low with pining while he used a foot to wistfully trace my name in the dirt.
I'm sure he was freshly intact in his dust-free air-conditioned office, but Men it seems, are very highly skilled at Beguilting and have no issues extrapolating the same techniques they used to obtain toys in childhood to well, obtaining You. I'm silently shaking my head with the requisite eye roll when Mr. X explains how a co-worker had ratted him out.
"Really?," I recoil a bit in shock, "The Opera Sales Staff have time to listen in on each other's conversations and tell? A little small minded of them." I stop then realize this was likely not the first time, "Unless...you're practically running a 1-900 at your desk, are you?"
Mr. X chortles merrily at this, "We-ell.. not exactly. But I do get bored." He's dismissive at the prospect of losing his job, yes, in this economy, "Ah, it's a-yight, I've been here a year and it's time."
I'm sitting there open-mouthed at the thought my mistaking him for Kentucky had put him on the brink of a career change. He mentions that a sale may yet save his job, and I promise to let him know the following week. Mr. X is pleased at this, but displays the same kind of unrepentant glee Icarus had when he flew a touch close to the sun, "Anyway, on to more important things, if I'm going to lose this job, I'm going to need a friend.. even a Face-Crack friend."
Wow. This is intense guilting. I'd been used to B's Libran charm offensives which are more spell-like in nature and usually involves stunning through symmetry. "But I DID send you a message on Face Crack," I reason, "To you know, tell you that I face-stalked you." Mr. X is immediately enthused, "Really? I've just got back from the Tundra and hadn't checked." I shrug, "Well, can't help it if you're a bit slow. What is up with the profile pic?"
His profile pic was of a knowingly sideways posed Mr. X ingenuously set in a gilt museum painting frame WITH a ball-gowned woman peacefully looking back in contemplation of his male beauty. Utter kitsch. He giggles, "Doesn't that JUST make me look like I'm so full of myself?"
Mr. X chortles merrily at this, "We-ell.. not exactly. But I do get bored." He's dismissive at the prospect of losing his job, yes, in this economy, "Ah, it's a-yight, I've been here a year and it's time."
I'm sitting there open-mouthed at the thought my mistaking him for Kentucky had put him on the brink of a career change. He mentions that a sale may yet save his job, and I promise to let him know the following week. Mr. X is pleased at this, but displays the same kind of unrepentant glee Icarus had when he flew a touch close to the sun, "Anyway, on to more important things, if I'm going to lose this job, I'm going to need a friend.. even a Face-Crack friend."
Wow. This is intense guilting. I'd been used to B's Libran charm offensives which are more spell-like in nature and usually involves stunning through symmetry. "But I DID send you a message on Face Crack," I reason, "To you know, tell you that I face-stalked you." Mr. X is immediately enthused, "Really? I've just got back from the Tundra and hadn't checked." I shrug, "Well, can't help it if you're a bit slow. What is up with the profile pic?"
His profile pic was of a knowingly sideways posed Mr. X ingenuously set in a gilt museum painting frame WITH a ball-gowned woman peacefully looking back in contemplation of his male beauty. Utter kitsch. He giggles, "Doesn't that JUST make me look like I'm so full of myself?"
"Yes, it does." then archly, "It's really bordering on narcissistic to be honest. And that V-neck," I add referring to his stylishly low shirt, "makes me doubt your sexual orientation."
He ignores the barb. "But why," Mr. X drives on, "Can't you just Friend me? Do you have a secret life? Something "nasty" in the woodshed?" I laugh, "Not at all. It's just..,"I hesitate for a bit but decide what the heck, "I write a blog and post there...and you're kind of in it already. Don't get big-headed."
Mr. X is more pleased at the prospect that I do something in the realm of arts and letters, "You write? Excellent. I don't mind being in it. I like creative people, I'm a musician myself. Can I read it?"
He ignores the barb. "But why," Mr. X drives on, "Can't you just Friend me? Do you have a secret life? Something "nasty" in the woodshed?" I laugh, "Not at all. It's just..,"I hesitate for a bit but decide what the heck, "I write a blog and post there...and you're kind of in it already. Don't get big-headed."
Mr. X is more pleased at the prospect that I do something in the realm of arts and letters, "You write? Excellent. I don't mind being in it. I like creative people, I'm a musician myself. Can I read it?"
Oh, God, I think, already fast-forwarding myself to a future of suffering through gigs and recording sessions, drastic auto-tuning or trying to be supportive when asked about a weak melody. Sewer flashbacks start - music had been a Sewer passion too. I disregard the spinning lights in my head and steady myself to reply, "Nope, sorry, that's the point. If you're in it, you can't read it.," though this only so far applies to Men and Official Employers. Then to distract Mr. X, "What instrument?"
"Guitar, " he replied excitedly, "you know gigs here and there but it's slow." I nod in sympathy, quickly knee-jerking into my past, "Yeah, so you're using what, Pro-Tools? Cakewalk?" These are all music editing software but you'd think I'd just moaned in his ear by the way Mr. X reacted, "God, you KNOW about Pro-Tools? You are the Strangest, Most Fascinating Girl I've never had the pleasure of Face-Cracking."
I sigh, "What can I say, I aim to please?" I hear him shifting excitedly in his seat about to launch into yet more musical topics when I decide I just need to know, "Anyway, my birthday was a few weeks ago, when's yours?"
Mr. X isn't disturbed by the sudden shift, taking this as typical of our thus far Mad as a Hatter conversations, "December 29th. You really just had a birthday?" Except I'm too busy musing about how the Tundra (Wisconsin/Minnesotta) seems to only produce Capricorns.
"Guitar, " he replied excitedly, "you know gigs here and there but it's slow." I nod in sympathy, quickly knee-jerking into my past, "Yeah, so you're using what, Pro-Tools? Cakewalk?" These are all music editing software but you'd think I'd just moaned in his ear by the way Mr. X reacted, "God, you KNOW about Pro-Tools? You are the Strangest, Most Fascinating Girl I've never had the pleasure of Face-Cracking."
I sigh, "What can I say, I aim to please?" I hear him shifting excitedly in his seat about to launch into yet more musical topics when I decide I just need to know, "Anyway, my birthday was a few weeks ago, when's yours?"
Mr. X isn't disturbed by the sudden shift, taking this as typical of our thus far Mad as a Hatter conversations, "December 29th. You really just had a birthday?" Except I'm too busy musing about how the Tundra (Wisconsin/Minnesotta) seems to only produce Capricorns.
I'm even more wary now, realizing how aside from sounding like Kentucky, looking like B, having the same passion as the Sewer, he had the same sign and a similar family background as the Long Lost Capricorn.
Really, Universe? This. Is. Just. TOO. MUCH.
Mr. X, if his Face-Crack wall is anything to go by, is one of five children in what looks like a huge, happily rollicking family - a family so wholesome and genuinely affectionate with each other that they regularly comment on one another's statuses.
In contrast, I feel the need to maintain separate accounts for my family and even then, deny my Face Crack involvement to at least one brother. The Bradys we are not. I mention this to Mr. X, who's about to tell me about the lone brother standing in resistance to friending their mother when he seems to have finally caught the eye of a supervisor, "Woops, got to go, getting the evil eye, I'll message you," he promises hurrying off.
I find his irreverence refreshing, and oddly reminiscent of mine when I was his age, which I'm guessing is of course, early to mid-twenties. The dreaded age conversation would have to come. Again. Maybe I should just create a canned recording. I get home to find he'd done as sworn, and a message is blinking away on Face Crack ready to greet me.
He asks me if I'd been "lucky" enough to view his entire profile, marveled at how I guessed he was tall and that all he saw was my little face sticking a tongue out at him (!). He tells me he'll leave the Friending Ball in my Court, but that he roughly knew where I lived so "beware" and signs off urging me to "stay safe, funky and sweet."
Mr. X, if his Face-Crack wall is anything to go by, is one of five children in what looks like a huge, happily rollicking family - a family so wholesome and genuinely affectionate with each other that they regularly comment on one another's statuses.
In contrast, I feel the need to maintain separate accounts for my family and even then, deny my Face Crack involvement to at least one brother. The Bradys we are not. I mention this to Mr. X, who's about to tell me about the lone brother standing in resistance to friending their mother when he seems to have finally caught the eye of a supervisor, "Woops, got to go, getting the evil eye, I'll message you," he promises hurrying off.
I find his irreverence refreshing, and oddly reminiscent of mine when I was his age, which I'm guessing is of course, early to mid-twenties. The dreaded age conversation would have to come. Again. Maybe I should just create a canned recording. I get home to find he'd done as sworn, and a message is blinking away on Face Crack ready to greet me.
He asks me if I'd been "lucky" enough to view his entire profile, marveled at how I guessed he was tall and that all he saw was my little face sticking a tongue out at him (!). He tells me he'll leave the Friending Ball in my Court, but that he roughly knew where I lived so "beware" and signs off urging me to "stay safe, funky and sweet."
"Funky"? I thought that term died with The Electric Company. I feel strangely flat about all this, Mr. X is as amusing as a puppy but much too scarily turning out to be a Walking Summary of love interests, past and present.
I sigh and write him back anyway, admitting that yes, I was lucky enough to have seen his entire profile and immediately supplicated myself in gratitude. I barely cared if he got the sarcasm.
I tell him that of course, I knew he was tall as I can intuit anyone big enough to crush me with a foot and that the only thing I've thus far realized is that judging by how many people I've met hailing from the Tundra have December Birthdays, Valentine's day must be a truly rocking holiday around those parts.
"The tongue," I write, "isn't personal. It's an unfortunate reflex that just seems to happen."
I sigh and write him back anyway, admitting that yes, I was lucky enough to have seen his entire profile and immediately supplicated myself in gratitude. I barely cared if he got the sarcasm.
I tell him that of course, I knew he was tall as I can intuit anyone big enough to crush me with a foot and that the only thing I've thus far realized is that judging by how many people I've met hailing from the Tundra have December Birthdays, Valentine's day must be a truly rocking holiday around those parts.
"The tongue," I write, "isn't personal. It's an unfortunate reflex that just seems to happen."
I decide I can't friend him at all and do the next unexpected thing. I give him my number.
"Use it with caution," I warn, "No writing it on public bathrooms or no-fly lists. It's mainly there in case you plunk into the ocean and don't know what to do. You can call me then and I promise you, I will get it ALL on youtube. Oh, and btw, I'm ALWAYS sweet, with the occasional tartness."
I smile thinking, oh to be a young man, so full of vigor and anticipation. I think, this should distract me. Like the Rotational used to do.
Except it doesn't. I'm sure Mr. X is somewhere laughing his head off, but I'm here and all I can think is, You're not B.
"Use it with caution," I warn, "No writing it on public bathrooms or no-fly lists. It's mainly there in case you plunk into the ocean and don't know what to do. You can call me then and I promise you, I will get it ALL on youtube. Oh, and btw, I'm ALWAYS sweet, with the occasional tartness."
I smile thinking, oh to be a young man, so full of vigor and anticipation. I think, this should distract me. Like the Rotational used to do.
Except it doesn't. I'm sure Mr. X is somewhere laughing his head off, but I'm here and all I can think is, You're not B.
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