“I love being married. It’s so great to find that one person you want to annoy for the rest of your life.”
– Rita Rudner
The other day, J. came to my office earlier than usual and so he went to the break room to study for a while before my lunch break. A bunch of the student officers congregate there between shifts or to eat so there was a group of them there at the time.
Helper, a notoriously unobservant young man, was among them.
Helper is an interesting kid. He spent several months trying to flirt with me, mostly by slinking up to my desk, lurking behind me for a while, and then informing me of what I was doing quite suddenly.
“You’re reading CNN.”
“Where’d you come from?! Um…yes. I am.”
The weirdest thing he did was hover silently one day while I went online to my bank account to pay my credit card bill.
“You use [name of bank]?” he drawled.
I jumped, as I’d had no idea he was there, and demanded why the hell he was looking!
“No reason. Is that your email too?”
I shut my windows and pointedly asked him if he was on duty.
“Heh, yeah,” he gave me a ‘I-get-it-we’ll-talk-later’ look and meandered off.
This was two months after I’d gotten engaged and had this nice rock sitting pretty on my left hand that was supposed to protect me from the over-amorous attentions of clueless men.
It never registered. It wasn’t until a couple months after that he must have figured out I was getting married in the near future because he came to me while I was reconciling a report, lurked behind me for a couple minutes, and finally muttered, “So, you’re engaged.”
“For about five months, yes.”
“I see.” He sat looking at me for a few more seconds before sighing and murmuring, “I won’t bother you anymore.”
He wandered off while I sat with my jaw slack, wondering where he had pulled this supposed relationship out of. I don’t think he’s spoken to me since, though I have caught him glaring furtively before he whisks himself around a corner. And once I overheard him once complaining to a co-worker that I had flirted with him, and the ensuing guffaws.
“Are you kidding? She’s married, and she was dating the guy before she ever worked here. Besides, she thinks you’re creepy.”
The reason for this back story? Well, there J. was sitting in the break room for quite a while before Helper realized he had no idea who J. was and enquired.
“I’m J., C.’s husband.”
“C.?” Helper asked nonchalantly, “Who’s that?”
“You know,” Lexie said, “she works at the front desk. Dark hair, green eyes, pretty?”
“Short?” offered J.
I still much prefer him to Helper.