It stands to reason that at some point in our lives, we are going to have to deal with the, "sex/relationship with a co-worker" situation.
As it stands, most of us spend more time at the office than anywhere else. It's a great dating pool, as long as you ignore every rule of human resources and don't mind the fact that you will be haunted by said sex or relationship until one of you quits or dies.
Throughout most of my time in Asia and stateside, I played it safe. I ignored any interests at work (that's not completely true, there were none to be had) and kept my prowl to those that a) I thought I would never see again or b) those that agreed that we would simply act as though nothing had ever happened.
Then the universe decided to play a cruel joke on me. About two months before my departure from the far east… a new co-worker arrived from the great land of Canadia (as I like to call it). This land is quite dangerous for me because it contains many men who have a natural affinity for plaid…
Plaid
Noun
1. a long piece of tartan cloth worn over the shoulder as part of Highland costume
2. a crisscross weave or cloth
3. a pattern that somehow causes yours truly to be 350% more attracted to any man wearing it. (I blame indie rock)
Needless to say I did my best to be friendly but figured there was no point in spending much time with him as I was about to go back to the land of limitless options in 60 days. Then he sent me an email… an email that shocked even ME.
Copy and pasted for pure hilarity.
Subject: Plans later???
So, how about a movie at my place later? You can stay over and I can make you a veggie omelate in bed tomorrow morning…
Let me know babe…
First of all… the incorrect spelling of omelet makes me not only upset but possibly repulsed. It took me a moment to ingest that before realizing that I had just received an inter-office booty EMAIL.
Now I am NOT one for subtlety about getting what one wants. BUT AN EMAIL?!?! And a WORK email?!?! I was dumbfounded. And clearly he was just dumb.
I immediately wrote back stating such propositions would have been better received in a phone call or hell, a text… and DEFINITELY not through work! But as far as plans later go, I was booked for the next two months, solid. No plaid shirt was going to change that. Ew.
I was left to wonder in a world where iPhone apps tell us what to eat for breakfast and where texting ALWAYS trumps calling… where is the line drawn?
Would I have gone if it were sent in a text? No. But if omelet had been spelled correctly, maybe…
This article appears in Dec 2-8, 2000.