I hate my job. So that makes me unique, right? I guess maybe
not. But is there anyone out there reading this who works every day in a
great big version of one of those mazes they make rats run through? Anyone
who sits for lets say ten hours in a sensory deprivation chamber known as a
'cubicle'? Well you guys know that I REALLY hate my job. Straight out of
college and into the wonderful world of accountancy. And here I am still,
six years down the line and going nowhere. I just can't bring myself to
suck-up to the dork who runs my section so spend most days dreaming about
better jobs. About Matt Damon showing up some day and begging me to quit
and go help him with his taxes. Where the hell are you when a guy needs
you, Matt?? Sigh!
Anyway, a bit about me, to help you visualise the loser. My name's
Mike Robins, a not bad looking, pretty well built, 5'11" with dark brown
hair and blue eyes, I'm 29 (about a month away from my thirtieth birthday)
and I am the most miserable of God's creations. My girlfriend of four
years broke up with me about a week ago - I was fooling myself, but
apparently not her. I've been gay pretty much as long as I can remember,
but I've been in denial (do you know how much I had to pay an hour to be
told that?), so I've never been with another guy. I just don't know how
I'd go about meeting a guy. I've chatted to tons of other guys on the
Internet, but at the last moment I always freak and can't meet with them.
What if they're nothing like they are online? What then?
So here I am, single, frustrated and swamped in work. As if that's
not enough, some idiot's jammed the copier (which is just outside my
cubicle) so I've had to spend the last hour explaining to people that, "no,
it was not me" and that, "no, I don't know what's wrong" and that, "yes, I
have called the service centre", but, "no, I don't know when the repair guy
will show up". Did I mention that I hate my job? An hour of this, this
and well-meaning idiots trying to fix it themselves, but I haven't gone on
a killing rampage. At least it'll be time for lunch soon.
I always eat lunch in my cubicle rather than the cafeteria, this
way I get some peace and quiet once I eat my sandwich to add some more
touches to my current fantasy. I leaned back in my chair, put my feet up,
closed my eyes and took up where we left off. I had to go over to Matt's
house to help him out with a particularly tricky problem with his return.
One thing led to another and we ended up in his pool...
"Mr., uh, Robins?" The questioning tone brought me back from my
reverie. I'd been caught, I felt the hot flush of guilt even if there was
no way anyone knew what I was daydreaming about. My eyes flew open and I
made to stand up but tripped over my own feet and crashed into the guy
standing in my cubicle's door. Thankfully, he caught me, and my God was he
strong! And did he ever smell good! My face was against his chest and he
was holding my arms to steady me. I jerked back, righted myself ad
straightened my tie, trying to look both businesslike and manly at the same
time. "You okay?" he asked?
"Yeah, yeah, sorry, yeah, I'm fine. Bit dizzy, must've stood up
too quickly, sorry", I explained to my shoes.
"You are Mr. Robins, right? Uh, Michael Robins?" He checked my
name on a crumpled bit of paper he took out of his pocket. "You called
about the copier?" I shuffled some papers about on my desk until I got
control of my embarrassment at falling on him like that.
I finally looked up and got a proper look at him, he was NOT the guy that
came last time, oh no. The last guy was 45, overweight and balding - not
my fantasy, but it takes all sorts, right? This guy was none of those
things. He was in his early twenties, a couple of inches taller than me
and seriously fit, blond with the deepest, brown eyes I have ever seen. He
was dressed real sharp too, in a fashionable black suit with a light blue
shirt and that awful company tie they make them all wear. Without that
tie, he'd have passed for a god, that kept him human! Actually, I could
have lived without the tie, without anything come to that, bet he'd look
good!
It struck me that I was standing there staring at him and fantasising about
seeing him naked but I still hadn't answered him. There was an odd
expression on his face that said he found my weirdness faintly amusing but
that if it went on he might find it worrying.
"Um, yeah, that's me, sorry." Jeez, I can't even tell the guy if he got my
name right without sounding like a total moron!
"You know that's the third time you've apologized already." Ouch, and he
spotted it too. Not to worry though I had a brilliant comeback ready, I
apologized to him again. Doh!
"Sorry." His face split in a big wide grin, a mouthful of perfect teeth.
Okay, so he's decided that I am a psycho, but I'm the harmless kind.
"Forget about it. If my boss knew how much time I spent doing actual work,
or not doing it, he'd fire my ass in a split second. My name's Scott." He
stuck his hand out and I took it, hoping my palm was dry.
"Hi, nice to meet you, Scott, and I'm sure you're a model employee!" Good
firm handshake, and that grin again! I found myself grinning back at him
and maybe, just maybe, holding his hand for a second too long. Just long
enough for him to look at me kinda quizzically.
"So where's the patient, Mr. Robins?" Well, I sure blew that, he's Mr.
Professional all of a sudden.
"Oh, just round the corner here", I showed him where, "and, please, call me
Mike."
"Sure thing, I guess I ought to be on first name terms with any guy who
throws himself at me." He flashed another grin, walked over to the copier
and squatted in front of it giving me a great view of his ass and thighs
filling out his suit pants. Now what on earth did that comment mean?
He opened up the unit and started doing copier-guy type things inside it
with some tools from his case (don't ask me what they were!), and
occasionally he'd mutter something to himself. Me, I just kinda stood and
watched him, I don't know if he was good bad or indifferent at his job but
I could've followed him around all day and watched him! Finally he pulled
a sheet of slightly blackened and very crumpled paper out and stood up.
"You know, more than half the problems I get called out for could be fixed
in thirty seconds if some idiot didn't try to fix it for me? Here's what
caused your initial problem though. See this slot?"
"Yes."
"This machine doesn't do duplexing, that's not a paper slot, it's an air
vent. Some people, huh?" He tapped his forehead and grinned. "You stick
paper in there, you're lucky it only jams, could've gone up in flames, then
you wouldn't be calling me."
"Yeah, some real fools work here", we both grinned at that, "So what do I
do if it happens again?" Keep him talking.
"Well, you've got three options really." He counted them off on his
fingers, "One: put up a sign reminding people not to shove things in the
ventilation slots - which won't work, nobody'll read it! Two: buy a copier
that has a duplexing unit - which is unlikely, knowing this firm. Or
three: call me - here's my card, any problems just give me a call."
"Great, thanks."
"No problem, Mike, see you around." Big grin, and that was it, he was
walking away, leaving the building and there I am standing holding his card
and watching him go. After all this time I've still got the moves. Of a
thirteen year old. He must've thought I was a prize moron. He's known me
for like fifteen minutes and I've spent the whole time either falling on
him or staring vacantly at him. Oh well, at least I have something new to
think about while I'm meant to be working. Move over, Matt!
Scott. Scott Logan, in fact. It was all on his card, unsurprisingly,
office number, pager and cell phone. Scott Logan, all six feet something
of him would be featuring very heavily in my private fantasies for a while.
Unlike Matt, I'd actually seen and touched and smelled him. Oh yeah,
Scott, I've got a problem and I just know you're the man to fix it. With
that thought I returned to my cubicle, my little fantasy kingdom and my
interrupted nap.
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