Its a slow day at the farm. My mind is drifting — probably venturing into the creepiness that men mask so shallowly. Come to think of it, women do the same thing.
I’m talking about the quickie in the office with either the alpha male or alpha woman. Everybody has had the thought — so don’t lie. How many times have you sat at your desk and been overcome by lust. Show of hands — mine is not the only one up. In fact, I’ll raise my feet, too.
There have been times when I really do get why the perpetually horny ‘Don Draper’ creeps around on those skinny-ass chicks he married. For me, the problem is that he creeps with women just as thin as the thin girl at home. My choice would be different — Joan Harris, or Doctor Fay. But, this column is really about horny thoughts not necessarily translating into action. It probably shouldn’t because there a lawsuit hiding in the sheets with you. I have a problem with that part of the male and female dynamic in the work place. Here are my thoughts.
I once went to inspect an office for a prospective lease. Coming immediately from the next over suite was loud yelling. This brought a smile to the dude showing me the office. Apparently, the next door tenant was worked up, hopping mad because his fax machine hadn’t arrived. He was letting his secretary have a verbal blast of insult.
“Bitch! You know I need that damn machine. The f#*king business will die without it!” He really got hysterical. “Yasfum–labo-slasum — #@F%&*?#!!!” approximated what came next out of his mouth.
“Oh…I’m so sorry. Oh…” Boo hoos came in waves. “Don’t get stressed.” More Boo hoos.
The guy showing me the office said: “Here it comes. Heheheee. Everyday. He whacks it. Here it comes,” He put his ear to the wall.
He didn’t have to. “F**k me! Go hard, boss. Ooo-o!” And all kinds of moans later, I hear the dude screaming at the girl, “I’m gonna ride you like a jokey.”
Apparently, from the noise and my host’s tattle-tell grin, the boss next door did just that. The girl said: “Argghh!God!!Oooo-tear my kitty up —Oooo!” Well. Her voice was a little muffled, but I’m sure you get gist.
Damn. They sounded like braying farm animals.
I went on the walkway and happened to notice blinds were open curtain was up. The man was uglier that a monkey’s ass. The girl had that pole dancing stripper look going for her. They were frantic like vampires going at it like they do on the show, “True Blood.” Fast vibrations.
I had been told not to do certain things where you work. Back at the office I was still in shock. When asked why, I told my secretary, describing the incident as vaguely as I could. Her smile was equally vague. She said: “If the stress level’s right, and you’re adult enough, a quick frolic beats a hot beer on a cold day.” Wink. Wink.
I won’t pass judgment one way or the other. A few days later, she called me out of a client meeting and asked me to stand in the hall. A guy we later nicknamed “Hump-in-stien,” short hairy little man he was, had a tall model type bent over a desk and she shrieking very loud. Furniture was moving around. Apparently, she was his secretary.
Stress. Sexy secretaries. Overheated martinet bosses. I’m sensing a theme here, something not on the resume or job description.
There are times, though I wonder if conduct is weighed for the long term consequences. The Don Draper in me says, I’m an ad man — I’m stressed — I need inspiration — send that semi-cute Peggy in here. But, the common sense married man that I am, says: “Don’t even try. I’ll probably have a dream tonight and there will be a girl sliding up and down the flag pole. That pile of clothes she just took off ain’t a bra — its a lawsuit — and a divorce!”
Check you later,
Bernard A. McNealy