Office Pervert

I did not mention in my introduction that I am currently on a co-op term (a work term, which I complete as part of my university degree program). Sure, work terms lend me valuable work experience and expose me to a whole new world of corporate culture that will better arm me for the future (blah, blah, blah)... but more importantly, they provide the perfect environment in which to people watch. You would be simply astounded by the kooky, harebrained people that work in positions of power in large corporations.

Today was my second day in my brand-spankin'-new job. Yesterday, among other valuable tid-bits of information including how to waste time at work (as if I, of all people, could not figure that one out on my own? Please...), and who to avoid, I was warned of the office pervert. Yes folks, he is present in different forms in many a work-place. This OP in particular comes in the form of an old (50ish?) male with grey hair who refuses to tuck in his terribly patterned shirts, despite the disheveled, unprofessional vibe it gives him, and who heads the PPC-like committee. The wha? Oh you're not an office fan? WATCH IT. The PPC is otherwise known as the Party Planning Committee from the show, The Office. It is a committee in which members of the company join together to plan useless parties with the intention of wasting time and possibly making work a little less unbearable. It can be taken semi-seriously, at most, as a real committee, of course. I can only wonder if such a man heads this sort of committee to meet young girls around the office so he can prey on them... Right. Back to the point. Any who, he is known for being strangely too friendly and making inappropriate remarks to girls around the office, especially co-op students, who are fresh blood. This is disturbing in itself, but what's more is one girl actually digs the attention. Why in God's name do you desire to be creepily eyed by an old man? Get on with your life, girl!

Today took a strange turn of events, though. See... I had to drop a file off to the mail room upstairs. Simple enough? Not. I have a terrible sense of direction. I feel disoriented in my own house on days. So this would be a task. I looked at the floor plan of the company. How useless. It was far too confusing for my pea-brain, so I decided to wing it. I trudge upstairs with the file, navigate may way through hallways, past cubicles, and, ALAS!, I have found the golden mail room. Okay... it's not really golden, but I could have sworn it was sparkling a bit as I approached it. So blah, blah, I hand in the file- life is great. I frolic (probably an overstatement) through the hallways, back to the staircase, all chuffed with myself for finding my way there without walking off a 12th floor balcony or something (hey, it could happen). As I am approaching the staircase, nameless Tech man exits through a door, and smiles and says hello to me. I say hi, and proceed to open the door he just came out of, just after I hear him mumbling something to me, which did not register in my mind until it was a moment too late. Then I deciphered it, "Checkin' out the little boy's room?" Good grief... there I was standing in the doorway of the men's bathroom. Fantastic, I really do know how to make a first impression. He chuckles at me and continues on his way. Why, why is the door to the staircase only an inch to the right of the men's bathroom? And why am I so oblivious to signs. Is it possible that I have also been branded an office pervert? Let's hope he realized I was new and disoriented and doesn't really think I was trying to catch some guy urinating at work. Ah well... what's done is done, I suppose.

And on an additional note, upon returning to my desk, I proceeded to spill day-old coffee all over some important looking sheets full of signatures of the former co-op student. Clever me... let's hope she doesn't remember to get those on Friday when she comes in- good thing I hid them.

Thus, I have had a brilliant start to my new job, obviously. (?!?!)
Adios!