2003-01-21 - 10:51 a.m.

My office is a narrow little shotgun shack about ten feet by twenty. Well I say my office, actually I only get the back eight or nine feet cut off with a wall partition and a curtain door, giving me a glorified cubicle that makes up for lack of space by being pretty secluded. No one can find me to bitch. The front lion share goes to this guy who acts as a kind of career education planner, a counselor in effect. Despite the cramped quarters, we get along well. We’re usually out of the office when the other is in and for the most part, we share pretty well. Sure I sometime hear him talk to his girlfriend and I’m sure he’s heard me blaring out my Avril Levine Bubble Gum Punk Rock but hey, we’re professionals so we get along.

The reason I’m telling this tale is that the other day, I came back to my office to get my cell phone. I had left, carrying my gear and had pretty much said goodbye, see you tomorrow. I went to lunch with a friend and just when I was about to leave, I realized, “Hey, where’s my fucking cell? It’s in the office. Fuck.”

So I went back. I found the door to the office locked.

Freeze: my co-worker, who’s about twice my age, is very punctual. He never leaves early (unlike slacker boy me) and that’s the only time he would lock the door. My spider sense was tingling but I dismissed it. This was late in the day, he probably decided it was time to know off early. Besides, our door has a pretty big window and I didn’t see him inside.

So I walk in and then my co-worker steps out from my office in the back with a sheepish look on his face and his shirt unbuttoned. “Hey AH, I didn’t expect you to come back.”

Freeze: Okay at this point I feel like a prat. I’m thinking he’s changing for a presentation or something and he ducked into my office to change and now I’ve gone and made him feel uncomfortable for something so innocuous.

I say I forgot my cell phone, ha ha ha, and I just want to grab it. Then he says “Can you give us a minute?”

OH SHIT.

Quick denouement, I leave, his girl and he clean up, I come back we have a good laugh, I get my cell and leave. It seems they were just making out (and his pants were up and his shirt was still tucked in a way that they would not have been had he had them down) and didn’t expect me to come back. His girl it turns out was embarrassed but my co-worker said that I was a man of the world, say no more, and I was cool with it. But it brings up the following questions:

If I had not walked in, how far would they have gone?

Have they fucked in my office before, and if so, how? It’s not exactly the honeymoon suite at the Motel 6 is it?

If my desk had been clean, would the Lord Nelson bust I have on it have been violated in a perverse way?

How can people make out in an office under the gaze of Winston Churchill with a Machine Gun?

Am I like the biggest cock blocking square in history, walking in on them like Daddy Ward Cleaver walking in on Wally and his girl making out?

Should I have just let them bang, being that they’re both like 40 something divorcees?

Now that I think about it, there are ways for them to have had sex without my co-worker taking his pants off, aren’t there?

Finally, when the fuck did my life turn into a porno, and does this make me the equivalent of the dwarf in the matador outfit holding the camcorder and shouting “Ole!”?

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