Workplace Romance
K was a vendor who spent a lot of time at my workplace. She was very attractive and flirty and we both had a similar sense of humor, so we’d often talk at work. I did get a vibe that she was interested, but I could tell that it wouldn’t work out (for example, I think socialism is great and she thought George W. was a great President), so I never really pursued it despite the encouragement of co-workers of both genders. Undeterred, she ended up asking me out. As I said, she was very attractive, so penis overruled brain and I said yes. My first tip that this would either be the best date ever or the worst date ever was that, in between the time she asked me out and our actual date, she managed to mention that she refused to use condoms during sex. She told me this at work, while spraying one of those air-dusters you use to clean computers between her breasts “because it’s so hot in here.”
I picked her up at her apartment (this was not unusual, I’d been there before for a party), but she came flying out to meet me and quickly slammed the door behind her. Okay, I thought, I guess she’s hungry; let’s head to dinner. After another awkward “this will never work out” moment was when she said grace before the meal and I took the time to contemplate my life-long atheism. Then she told me about the time that she was in prison, because of a fight she got into over her then-girlfriend. Yeah, mixed messages.
Did I mention she was attractive? And that I was kind of lonely? You need to know those things to understand why the date proceeded. Because next we went to a movie. Without going into detail, it’s been the only time I’ve had the phrase “GET A ROOM!” shouted in me. In the car after the movie, she pretty much pounced on me and said we should go back to my place. Since I lived over an hour away, and we were about five minutes from her place, I suggested hers instead. This dampened her enthusiasm, but she reluctantly agreed. I soon learned why. Her apartment was quite literally trashed. As in, a thick layer of garbage all over the floor. This, she confessed, was the work of a recent ex. Did I mention the part about me being lonely? Because that’s a big part of the reason I didn’t run. After a beautiful moment of intimacy (not really, but why not), I found myself lying next to her as she was sobbing uncontrollably. We parted shortly thereafter,and I confess I mumbled something about “seeing you again real soon.”
This lovely evening was on a Friday night and the following (early) Sunday morning, I was awakened by a call on my cell phone from K. I knew it was her, because I’d assigned her a distinctive ringtone, but didn’t answer because, I was still pretty much asleep and would’ve been incoherent. I heard the phone beep to indicate I had voicemail. Then it rang again; then a second voicemail. I reached for the phone and checked the messages. The messages were not, in fact, from K, but from her ex, using her phone. The first message was a threat to “kick the shit” out of me and so forth, abruptly interrupted by the sounds of a scuffle in which K’s voice could be heard. The second message was an invitation from her ex to call him and “be a man about this.” Whatever that meant.
