Mixing Business With Displeasure

I like to think that I'm a good judge of character. Then I look at my romantic history and the types of friends I had growing up and I'm quickly disabused of this notion. I can't even count the number of times a person I trusted has left me gobsmacked when his or her true colors were revealed.

This has led me to my current state of cynicism and stringent requirements for allowing others to get anywhere near the real me. Very few have made it through the gauntlet of my defenses in recent years, which is a really sad thing to ponder. (As a side note, the few that have are rad beyond words) I discovered that it was easier to keep everyone away than let people in only to have my feelings stomped on, scraped off on a curb and then shat upon by some teacup chihuahua that the owner bought because she saw in Us Weekly that Paris has one, too.

I guess where I'm going with this is that I have been trying recently to allow some of the walls I've built to deteriorate just a little bit. To give people a chance to prove me wrong. To allow myself to open up to people without assuming that they're only talking to me in the hopes of getting into my pants or having vicious, catty things to say about me behind my back. All of this would be easier, of course, if people would stop coming at me with shady intentions and demonstrating that my paranoia has a foundation after all!

Take, por ejemplo, this dude at Bureaucratic Printing Company, Troy McClure. He's a salesperson, so of course he's got that same kind of locker room, frat boy swagger that all successful salespeople seem to embody. He's married, almost twice my age and has children just a few years younger than I am. So, when he began some jokey, sarcastic office banter with me, I thought nothing of it. That's usually the kind of relationship I have with coworkers anyway because I'm not sure if you've taken note, but I'm a touch sarcastic myself.

Then, one day, I was doing some hellish task for Satan's Minion and working late when Troy McClure asked me if I'd like the company's Sonics tickets for the next night as he didn't have any clients that could use them that week. I said yes because, let's face it, if I can't get some goddamned health insurance I'm sure as hell taking any perks I can possibly get from this place.

Cut to game day when Troy McClure drops my ticket by my office. Note the singular. Ticket. I quickly ascertained that he would be going to the game, too. I tried to cover my surprise and be gracious because this guy has a lot of pull at my company and I'm really new and a freaking temp to boot and typical chickenshit me, I couldn't think of a good way to back out at that point without making my reasons for doing so ridiculously transparent.

I felt like I was headed for trouble, or at the very least, an extremely uncomfortable evening. In talking it over with my mom, though, we both decided that he wasn't hitting on me, obviously, I mean, he's married, for God's sack, so this would be an excellent networking opportunity for me and I can use as many business contacts with clout as I can get.

So, I met up with Troy McClure for the game and he soon revealed that he actually had 4 tickets, but he only invited me, so we'd have more room to "spread out." Immediate red alerts started going off in my brain. In the words of the immortal Jean Luc Picard, "Brace for impact." Troy McClure proceeded to get pretty hammed off just a couple of beers (it's clear that he doesn't usually drink much) and started making some weird comments about how I'm way too cute to work in Accounting and how people must mistake me for Nicole Kidman all the time and how he can't believe he's out with me and he can't wait to tell his friends about it. He asked me about my dating history and then started saying how I clearly need someone older and more mature. You know, someone like him.

I kept trying to steer the conversation back to business and basketball and whatnot, but dude was relentless. So, after an awkward goodnight in which I bowed out of getting a nightcap so he could "show me off" around town and I studiously avoided any physical contact such as a hug or even a handshake so as to preclude the inevitably embarrassing Lean In (him), Turn Away (me) maneuver, I ran home like a bat out of hell and vowed to never be in a one-on-one situation with him again.

Luckily for me he went on vacation the next week, so there weren't too many awkward encounters in the office...Until yesterday when he decided to park himself in my office to chat while I tried to work and make it painfully obvious I was too busy to talk. Finally, my boss literally chased him out of my office and told him to stay away from me, yelling at his retreating form, "You're married!!!!" No fool, that lady. She has sure got his number. She later told me that Troy McClure thinks he is God's gift to women and is quite the philanderer. All I can say is I hope God thought to get me a gift receipt, 'cause ain't no way that's ever gonna happen.

Today he popped into my office and gave me a Valentine's Day-themed Starbuck's gift card because he remembered that I said I like espresso. Then he promptly turned red and bolted. Five minutes later he called to apologize for running away, but he had an appointment and wanted to make sure I got the gift card. Seriously, dude? Thanks for the gift card, but it would take a lot more than that for you to get so much as a dry handjob from me. Like Hell freezing over, for example. (By the way, is there anything worse than a dry handjob? For anybody involved?)

So, here I am, trapped in my frillionth awkward dynamic with a coworker who thought I'd be his bit of stuff on the side but was sorely mistaken. And all because I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Peachy.