Let me quickly introduce again the Hot Mailroom Boy whom we shall call HMB after this for easy typing on my part. The first time I saw him here at my new job, I was totally infatuated. The sweet, shy type with dark hair and beautiful eyes. KILLS ME! He shows a striking resemblance to that sexy, brooding lead actor in the now defunct "Roswell" series. Not only that, but strangely enough, he even has nearly the same voice, that kind of soft, breathy thing. Oh man, let me take a moment away from the keyboard to get my stupid self under control.
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Okay!
Anyway, I did something marginally immoral. Probably akin to sexual harassment. It certainly would be if a guy did this in my place. I tried to get the HMB to replace me in the job I am doing here since I?m moving into a "higher" position in the same office. How perfect! I would have him within close proximity all day everyday. How could I fail to seduce him with my sultry, feminine wiles and razor-like wit now? Okay, he?s like seven years younger than me, I think he already has a girlfriend, his flirting with me can only be considered marginal, etc. But oh well! Besides, this romantic nepotism wasn't totally without cause. Another guy who is in the same position as I was (basic administrative slave), also began as the mailboy and moved his way to the same slave position (in a different department) when an opportunity arose (though I don?t think he was promoted for potential romantic reasons. He?s nice, but a bit like a thick, piece of wood). So, it wasn't completely out of line for me to suggest the same for HMB. Alas, my boss was not as excited as I was and decided in the end to go for a new, shiny person from the temp agency. I believe the reason is that HMB is painfully shy and this position sort of calls for a perky, patient sort. I rallied for him a bit, saying he was smart, friendly, etc., but I think his ginger manner is what lost it for him. I tried! At least I still get 4-5 wild fantasy-filled, heart-thumping moments per day as he lumbers in, picking up and dropping off the mail.
I have tried almost every excuse to talk to him and am getting to the point of feeling ridiculous and obvious, as I have ordered every type of envelope, had empty boxes delivered, files taken down, courier waybills searched for, etc. etc. etc. anything to initiate contact with him. Knowing me, no one even has a clue. Normally, I wouldn't be so shy about letting someone know I like him, but the age gap, his timidity (which I can't tell if it's self-consciousness or an attempt to avoid my advances), and the fact that I work in a modest office which works like a small town in terms of gossip and know-everything-about-everyone, I just can't take the chance.
I'm terrified of the very real possibility of rejection.
Not to mention, having to sit there immersed in humiliation, trying to force a stupid grin on my visage as the guy who rejected me strides by FOUR or FIVE times a day! That's too close to some sort of Greek tragic punishment a la Sisyphus or Prometheus for me!
The thought of rejection has also been forefront in my mind since the recent "asking-out" of me by one of the security guards here. I was so stupid; I should have seen it coming when he asked me 5000 questions about myself, including the "do you have a boyfriend?" and "are you looking for anyone?" etc. One of these times when he was interrogating me in a jovial way, I thought that the HMB may JUST possibly be within earshot (we were in the basement where the HMB dwelling is), and so, speaking in a loud voice, I was secretly hoping HMB would hear all the answers to these convenient questions and POSSIBLY get some sort of encouragement or useful information from it. What I so foolishly missed was that the person actually collecting this information was the one asking it, and he in turn used it just an hour later to ask me out. In a really stupid way too. I had told him about my unbelievably massive student loan debt (nearing 70k), and this is how it went down:
*phone ringing from Security desk* Me worried about why Security might be calling me.
(all is spoken in a very rapid fashion, as both parties were nervous for different reasons)
Me: Yes?
Security guard: Oh hey, Iris
Me: *suspiciously* Yes?
Security guard: You know, I feel so sorry for you.
Me: Huh?
Security guard: Yeah, let me take you out to dinner, you know. I feel so sorry for you because you have all that debt and stuff, so let me take you to dinner.
Me: *splutter* Um?well, um. Okay. I mean, I?m really busy and?
Security guard: Can you go on Saturday?
Me: Um no, I have a second job and all so um, no, I can?t Saturday, maybe ?later. And?uhh?.
Security guard: Okay. See you later.
*click*
Me: Fuck.
Since then, with the intrepidness of a Cold War spy, I have shamefully dodged him, using alternate routes when moving from department to department where I would have previously intersected him. I felt like shit, but to outright reject him to his face seems unbelievably cruel to me. He seemed to get the message, and I eased off my cloak and dagger ways a bit. I always say hello to him and try to be cheerful and kind, but at the same time keep my distance. I know; I'm scum.
When I was in my early twenties, I was filled with confidence. I'd thinned out a bit from my jock-like teens, I had recently had my braces removed (something I?d yearned for as child but was never able to afford), and with the mass meat market of college and the occasional aid of the internet, men were easy to score. I had a great time. I had wonderful relationships. I got laid a lot.
Now, for the first time ever, I?m very conscious of my age. Men, whom at any age were always a possibility, an option, are now too green for the picking. When I found out HMB was 24, it didn't seem like a big deal, but then after a quick calculation in my head, I realized that he was SEVEN YEARS younger than I! Holy fuck! Is that even allowed if you?re not Susan Sarandon or Demi Moore and/or gorgeous and/or rich? I am neither gorgeous nor rich nor a celebrity. I'm okay looking, but need to lose weight, I have just enough money to make it each week, and the only celebrity status I'm likely to get is if I happen to fall down a well.
Back to HMB, I feel renewed in my endless, yet fantastically subtle pursuit of him. I just found out today that the reason one executive wasn?t getting an executive officer her Economist magazines in as timely a manner as I, is because HMB has been hording them in his mailroom cave in the basement, reading them, and then finally passing them on to her after he finishes. The executive, the type of person who becomes rather shrill when agitated, once again freaked out today about her MIA magazine. Due to the fact that I toss mine promptly after reading them (even if I've barely had the chance to read a few measly articles), I decided to just hand them over to HMB. Hey, it's fantastic for him, and again, it's a selfish ploy to get closer to a man I want to bed.
*A few weeks go by*
A couple weeks have gone by and the truth is, it hasn't done much for our creative non-relationship. He continues to be evasively shy, and I have begun pulling back a bit due to my reluctance to continually feel like a pathetic and eager lovelorn fool. I don't know why I'm so sensitive to show my feelings for someone in public, especially around people I know (it's a bit easier around strangers), but now that a couple people in the office know of my attraction (I have only let on to attraction, no my full-on lustfest), I am too ashamed to actually let them see me slobber in his wake. Besides, after I told one woman about my crush, she exclaimed, "Him? He's just a baby!" I blushed a deep red. They got a big kick out of that. I blush easily and deeply. My skin is as pale as a corpse, which allows maximum redness! Ohhhhh HMB. I have a feeling we will never be. Alas! Alas! Alas!
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.
