These stories are about a specific coworker I used to have. She was a sweet girl, but she ... (how do I put this?) ... didn't have a verbal filter. For other Office Outtakes, go here, here, here and here.
Here's another one:
There are several alternate titles for this post.
- Invading My Personal Space
- Why I Could Sue for Sexual Harassment
- An Unconventional Way to Induce Vomiting
I'm a peon in a cubicle. And it's a small one. Reaching out, my fingers can easily touch the opposite walls in both directions. (FYI, I'm not complaining, just stating the facts.)
Since I have an abnormally large personal space bubble, this means anyone coming in my cubicle had better be someone that won't set off DEFCON 1 when that bubble is breached.
Enter my coworker (stage left), we'll call her Brytnee.
Evidently, Brytnee had a MUCH smaller personal space bubble than I did because every time she came over to ask a question, she would waltz into my cubicle and lounge on the 2 cubic inches of desk space not already occupied by my computer, pen organizer or telephone.
Each time, I tried to do my best to answer her questions while attempting to unclench the giant muscle knot that inevitably formed between my shoulder blades (see DEFCON 1).
With questions answered and concerns alleviated, I would turn my attention back to my computer, hoping she would make a hasty exit so I could painstakingly rebuild my emotional boundaries.
That's when Brytnee out did herself. With my focus glued to my computer screen, I nearly flew out of my chair when I felt her finger tips rubbing my back as she murmured, "Thanks, Honey."
Even my wife doesn't call me "Honey."
And nothing has ever given me a stronger urge to recoil than those finger tips.
(Now, in her defense, Brytnee called everyone in the office, "Honey." Still ... not cool, Brytnee. Not cool.)