I have this picture of me and Crockett from derby prom on my office wall. It’s wallet sized, but it’s right in front of my desk and we’re ten kinds of adorable in it (go look at my faces page if you don’t believe me).
So the other day I’m on the phone with this salesguy from wherever area code 503 is (I can’t currently be bothered to look it up because that would involve opening ANOTHER TAB IN MY BROWSER and IT’S FRIDAY SO NO). I’m explaining something to him about how if he had bothered to read the instructions that we helpfully provide to all sales people then he wouldn’t have had to call me in the first place, and then he fairly abruptly changes the subject.
“So you have some tattoos on your back, I heard.”
“Um….I’m sorry, what?”
“Someone told me that you have huge tattoos on your back, but I’m not going to tell you who. What are they?”
“It’s kind of a long story.” This was me trying to avoid talking about my tattoos with an out of state coworker who I would likely never meet. Because, why, amirite.
“Come on, you can tell me. I have time for a story.”
“Nah, they’re not a big deal. But really, who told you?”
“I’m not going to tell you unless you tell me what they are.” Because we’re in third grade, not corporate America (apparently).
I wanted off the damn phone, but more than that I wanted to know who on EARTH was talking to this sales guy about my tattoos, of all things. It’s not like I wear backless shirts to work – sometimes you can see them through my arm holes if I’m sitting at a desk and have taken off my cardigan, but that’s about it. I’m not ashamed of them, but neither am I nuts about them being a topic of discussion at my place of work.
“Fine. They’re wings.”
“That wasn’t a long story. What are they about, why did you get them?”
“That’s the long story part. It doesn’t matter. Who was talking to you about them?”
“Ok, Mikey McMikerson (not his real name). He thinks you’re hot, but I don’t know if you are since I’ve never met you.”
Really, HOW did I end up having this conversation at work? Really?
“Ok, thank you for telling me who told you. I’d appreciate it if you two didn’t discuss me unless it’s with regard to work, in the future, ok?”
“Oh, ok. So, do you have a boyfriend?”
Are you KIDDING ME?
“I’m sorry, I have to run. If you have any problems with the work issue that’s the reason we’re talking, feel free to shoot me an email.”
I realize that people thinking I’m attractive is not in fact a bad thing, but this was just ridiculous. I don’t know how old this sales person is, but Mikey McMikerson is roughly my age and sits on the same floor as me, and I see him every day. Since I had this conversation with the salesguy, Mikey has been by my office several times for transparently trumped up reasons (Emma, do you know how to staple two pieces of paper together? You do? Can you show me?) and I don’t know what to do with it. QueenB had some brilliant advice on turning down unwanted advances, but he’s not actually making advances. He’s just talking about me to our coworkers, apparently.
Really, I don’t know what to do. Get a bigger picture of me and Crockett? Ignore him unless he actually asks me out (currently the plan)? Tattoo ‘not interested’ on my forehead? More ideas are welcome.