And I *really* don’t want to.
I’m the liason for a third-party group that works with my company. This third-party group works out of Pennsylvania and I’ve only dealt with them over the phone. I’m the designated someone-doesn’t-feel-like-dealing-with-it-so-you-deal-with-it person at work, so that’s how I was so lucky to land this additional obligation.
The guy in charge of this third-party group, we’ll call him Steve, is a hyper, slightly brain-damaged (I’m not even kidding), flirty, and from what I hear – balding man who has a congressional medal with Ronald Reagan’s face on it that he wears at the bar to pick up chicks. Now, I know he has this medal, he e-mailed me a photo of a closeup of the medal. However, he didn’t send a picture of himself wearing it. He also told me there is a pool at the office betting on whether I’m a babe or not. After he told me this, and I was just baffled replying, “Oh, um, okay, I don’t know about that…” he would write in his BUSINESS-RELATED e-mails to me, “Hey “babe”. Yeah – the quotation marks even. He told my rep in Spanish that he wants to make love to her. She likes this, because she’s a recent divorcee. But COME ON. There must be some SERIOUS brain damage.
Ugh. I talk to this guy on a daily basis.
Today he flies in to Austin. He’s coming to my office. I have to talk to him face-to-face while he makes his decision about whether or not I am actually a babe. Strange thing is, I am really being scrupulous about what I wear today. It’s a FRIDAY! I usually wear jeans and a t-shirt. I almost went to Target last night to pick up a new professional looking outfit. WHY?! Why do I give a shit whether he thinks I’m a babe. That’s retarded. I just feel like my space is being invaded and I can’t even relax on my usual do-nothing day of the work week.
Oh, I also have to see his hyperness in action. I have to train him on some computer systems and I really don’t want him all up in my desk space. But I have no choice.
Maybe it won’t be that bad. I’ll keep you posted.