What Would Michael Scott Do?
I learned a long time ago that it’s a bad idea to date co-workers. And when I say, “learned,” I mean, “acknowledged.” And when I say, “a bad idea,” I mean, “fun as fu*k.”
But as you know, it doesn’t always work out. There was Blue Eyes. Unfaithful but still my unicorn. There was Chicago. She had the greatest butt and loved my dog; and other guys. There was the Typist. Could’ve worked if she had better taste in her bar regulars. Then Ms. Arizona-Don’t-Ask-Don’t-Tell came along. And well, that was just hott red-headed drunky monkey love. But then one day following one night, she got engaged. Toss in a few more ignorant hostesses with low self-esteem and what you have is a reason to transfer restaurants every 8-10 months.
But now that I’m all growed up working somewhat of a “real” job that may just turn out to be a career, the stigma and penalties of courting co-workers may prove deterrent enough to keep my junk in the trunk. Oh that didn't come out right.
But then I thought, “I’m a dude. Fu*k that.”
Just for fun, let’s play out a hypothetical scenario. We’ll roll it from my perspective ‘cause really, that’s the only one that matters.
Here we go.
You’ve finally landed in a division that employees women. And not just the administrative type. The type that are 21, hired right out of college and given a corporate AMEX. ‘Nuf said.
You’ve recently bonded with one in particular. Single. Cute. Smart as hell (which is hott). And a personality that, though almost 7 years junior to yours, rivals your best punches; above the belt or not.
Now let’s say that it’s Tuesday night. You’re both at the Blue Jays / Yankee’s game drinking beers 30 rows up from third base. Laughing and not really giving two shit-licks about the game ‘cause reallly, who the fu*k cares about baseball? She’s cold so you give her your jacket. You’re leaning up against each other, exchanging gazes, insults, and occasionally sticking your finger in her mouth when she yawns. You are the perfect gentleman.
Here’s the question. Is it wrong to just start dry-humping right there in the middle of Section 130a?
We didn’t think so either, but we showed restraint anyway.
Now let’s say, hypothetically, of course, that you and 30 friends end up at the club. A couple of VIP booths and 13 bottles of vodka later. . .
What hand would you play?
Hypothetically.
I know. I'm fuct.
But as you know, it doesn’t always work out. There was Blue Eyes. Unfaithful but still my unicorn. There was Chicago. She had the greatest butt and loved my dog; and other guys. There was the Typist. Could’ve worked if she had better taste in her bar regulars. Then Ms. Arizona-Don’t-Ask-Don’t-Tell came along. And well, that was just hott red-headed drunky monkey love. But then one day following one night, she got engaged. Toss in a few more ignorant hostesses with low self-esteem and what you have is a reason to transfer restaurants every 8-10 months.
But now that I’m all growed up working somewhat of a “real” job that may just turn out to be a career, the stigma and penalties of courting co-workers may prove deterrent enough to keep my junk in the trunk. Oh that didn't come out right.
But then I thought, “I’m a dude. Fu*k that.”
Just for fun, let’s play out a hypothetical scenario. We’ll roll it from my perspective ‘cause really, that’s the only one that matters.
Here we go.
You’ve finally landed in a division that employees women. And not just the administrative type. The type that are 21, hired right out of college and given a corporate AMEX. ‘Nuf said.
You’ve recently bonded with one in particular. Single. Cute. Smart as hell (which is hott). And a personality that, though almost 7 years junior to yours, rivals your best punches; above the belt or not.
Now let’s say that it’s Tuesday night. You’re both at the Blue Jays / Yankee’s game drinking beers 30 rows up from third base. Laughing and not really giving two shit-licks about the game ‘cause reallly, who the fu*k cares about baseball? She’s cold so you give her your jacket. You’re leaning up against each other, exchanging gazes, insults, and occasionally sticking your finger in her mouth when she yawns. You are the perfect gentleman.
Here’s the question. Is it wrong to just start dry-humping right there in the middle of Section 130a?
We didn’t think so either, but we showed restraint anyway.
Now let’s say, hypothetically, of course, that you and 30 friends end up at the club. A couple of VIP booths and 13 bottles of vodka later. . .
What hand would you play?
Hypothetically.
I know. I'm fuct.
