There was almost no work to do at work today, which is OK — the pay’s the same whether there’s too much work or not enough.
From Pathetic Life #8
Wednesday, January 11, 1995
They’re rewiring the counters (desks) where we work, so people have been moved around, leaving nobody within easy earshot of Carlotta and me. She is flirtatious, and I don’t mind, and I guess/hope seeing that I don’t mind encourages more of the same. Being by ourselves seems to encourage her, too.
She was talking about the Warriors (basketball team), and how she’s drawn to tall men, and then she said, “My husband is 6 foot 11.”
”Jeez, really?” I asked.
“Yeah, he’s six feel tall,” she said, holding her hand over her head, “and eleven inches out,” touching her thumb to the center of herself and then out in front. I laughed, and probably blushed.
I don’t remember what we were talking about, but she said she’s strong, and flexed her arm muscle, asking me to feel it. Okay, I squeezed her muscle and said something stupid like, “Not bad.”
“Can I feel your muscle?” she asked, and because her jokes are all dirty and corny, I guess I knew what was coming. I flexed my arm muscle, which ain’t much, and she said, “Not that muscle,” giggled and walked away.
Later she talked about going swimming at a cousin’s house when she was 16, and discovering two friends, both girls, all over each other in the bedroom. Okay. Haven’t got a lot to say in response to such a story, so I just smiled.
Men talk like this all the time, when it’s just guys in the room. For all I know, women do too, but most women do not talk like that with me.
Toward the end of the day, Carlotta was speculating about who might be gay in the office, which is kinda silly since most of the gays are way way out. She wanted to bet about Julio, one of the temps — is he gay or is he straight? Which is of no interest to me, but for Lottie I am willing to play along, and we bet a dollar.
She asked how to find out, and since she was wearing a fairly short skirt, my suggestion was that she hike it up to her thighs to see if his eyes bug out like mine would. She laughed, but didn’t do it, damn it.
That was the only out-of-line thing I said all day, but Carlotta said a dozen things. I should add that it wasn’t non-stop, just a line now and again, and only totaled maybe fifteen minutes of childish nonsense all day.
I am not trying to make this into a tawdry zine of stroke material, but the diary deal is that I’m supposed to tell you what happens every day. Today, nothing
happened except some PG-rated conversation, and it was one of my favorite days ever at the office.
This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.
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