Our receptionist is a lovely blonde in her early forties. She is terribly sweet, dresses nicely and is quite good at her job. She's always cheerful and rarely ever complains about the dozens of cranky people she daily has to pacify.

She and I always compare latest shoe finds and the latest sales. Occasionally she'll pop in and each lunch with me and we'll chat. Over time, she has shared with me her struggles with low self esteem, stemming mostly from childhood sexual abuse and a husband who would beat her and locked her in the closet. Like any female, I battle my demons of inadequacy. I have been able to share with her different things that helped me and simply encourage her and cheer her onward. Because, let's face it, life as a female can be rough.

Today she stopped by my office and asked to speak with me for a moment. She sat and twisted her hands nervously and started by saying "Please don't take this the wrong way."

This always makes for an interesting conversation opener.

"When I first started here, I saw you and thought 'I cannot work with her every day, I will feel inadequate and ugly'. You intimidated me! You were so perfect and pretty!"

At this point I insert some sort of comment which ended coming out like a strangled surprise.

"But then, it turns out that you, the person I was most afraid of, makes me feel the best about myself. I always feel confident and beautiful after talking to you. You make me feel like a wonderful person. And I just find it quite ironic, I was so sure that I was going to hate myself every day. I have mornings where I hate myself and I feel hideous and feel like I should be locked in a closet. But you always have something to say to me that cheers me right up. Out of all the people here, you have helped me grow the most. And, well, I love you for that. Because your kind and sweet and beautiful and---"

She was cut off by an irate manager stomping in my office to yell at me.

But it really gave me pause. I guess you never know who you touch and it what ways. And it encourages me to know that I have talents other than enmasuculating men and stuffing their testicles in their mouth.

In the business I work in, co-workers sleeping together isn't what you would call uncommon. Some places actually encourage people to date. Given how much time we spend together, I guess this could make sense. While breakups may be ugly, turnover is high to begin with.

Therefore, the only kind of sex that can be scandalous is when management is involved. Well, when management is caught, to be more accurate. This innuendo soaked environment is a breeding ground for all sorts of nasty rumors that spread like fungus unless nipped in the bud with a little caustic treatment.

Latest Rumor: That I (Porkchop) Was Giving Sexual Favors To A Salesman



What I find paticularly amusing is the fact that his salesman has a nasty habit of invading my personal space, something I have called him out on quite loudly and publicly. Even if it something as simple as brushing lint off my shoulder, I narrow my eyes, slap his hands and shriek "keep your mitts off, you handsy bugger!"

I am sure you can now understand my amusement when I heard this juicy bit of gossip. I heard it at the end of the weekend, so I had a whole day to carefully prepare my speech to this salesman who was spreading these rumors. I honed. I tweaked. I recited it for several people who not only inserted suggestions but offered bodily harm, by Monday, I was ready.

I called the salesman into my office using his full Christian name, as his mother (or the principal) would.

Porkchop: "So, Salesman X, how was your weekend"

Salesman X: "Um, er, fine. Yeah, fine"

Porkchop: "Well. That's lovely."

Porkchop: "So, Salesman X, I hear I gave you a hand job. Now, since I wasn't aware of this I was hoping you could fill me in on the details."

Salesman X sits there. Dumbfounded.

Porkchop: "Salesman X, please, humor me. On a scale of one to ten, how was it? Please be specific and detailed."

Salesman X continues to sit there. Mouth slightly agape.

I finally pause and raise an eyebrow, obviously expecting some sort of response. The salesman sort of stutters and lunges for the door.

Porkchop: "Salesman X, this conversation is not over, I did not say you could go."

Salesman X start contradicting himself, stuttering, fidgeting, leaping about his chair and generally acting like a lying fool. He finally sputters out with "Salesman Z, SalesmanY and SoAndSo made it up! I was drunk! I don't... You're going to believe all of them over me??"

Porkchop: "First of all, I didn't say anything about how I found out, obviously you said something if you are referring to specific people. Secondly, Salesman X, yes, I would believe just about anyone over you, given your past track record of lying."

Salesman X: "Is that all?"

Porkchop: "No, actually, it isn't. Salesman X, let me share something with you. Our general manager? Yes, him. He has it out for you. It wouldn't take much to push him over the edge. If you did decide to leave, I know the owner of ImmediateCompetion, Inc and ImmediateCompetition2, Inc, your your chances there don't look so good. Furthermore, given our policy against drug use, I don't know how pleased anyone would be at the results of a random drug test after a night of your partying."

Salesman X protests regarding his usage.

Porkchop: "Salesman X, I've seen you high."

Salesman X shuts up.

Porkchop: "I also happen to know a few state troopers who would be more than happy to nab someone with possession of illegal substances and would happily slap on a "intent to distribute" charge. Now, something like that wouldn't look so great on your record given your desire to go into pharmaceutical sales, would it?"

Salesman X sits sullenly.

Porkchop: "WOULD IT?"

Salesman X: "No"

Porkchop: "I can't imagine your father (who is a well-ranked government officer) would be very pleased to find out his son, who happens to be wasting his life in the first place, is further flushing it away with drug use, however casual."

I pause and let it all sink in. Happily surveying the nervous and twitching wreck I have created before my desk. The salesman lunges for the door again. I command him to sit down.

Porkchop: "I'm almost finished. I just want to do a quick little review to make sure we understand each other. Will there be any more of this ridiculous rubbish going on?"

Salesman X: "No"

Porkchop: "And what are the consequences of such rubbish if it to ever happen again?"

Salesman X: "You will make it your personal mission to make my life hell, if you don't start sooner."

Smart boy. He got the general gist.

"You know the only reason you and __________(insert asshole manager's name here) are different is because he makes people think he likes them before tearing into their innocent souls. You just do it from the get go."

--A Victim Of My Vicious Tounge

I haven't taken to dating anyone. I haven't taken up any new hobbies. I've just been working.

I loathe blogging about work because, really, who wants to hear about stupid customers, cranky bosses and lethargic banks? I don't hate my job, I just work, alot. Sixty-five, seventy hours a week.

I'm alive. But I miss our blogging little family. It isn't the same without everyone.

But I am here.

I am very attune to smells. Every year for Christmas I give someone a carefully selected scent. I wear my perfume to suit my outfit and situation. As we drove through Wyoming I could smell the dust. Through Nebraska as it rained I caught a whiff of wet dirt. Through the whole trip I could smell cows, mountains, prarie and wind. But when I passed the sign that said "You Are Now Crossing The Mason Dixon Line" I could smell home. The honeysuckle, the rain, the ocean.

It's home.

And I've never been happier to be here.