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Women Only
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Straight Female / 29
I Am The Innocent One, Caught On The Line By The Fisherman
I got a job in an office of professionals. Ninety eight percent men, one woman engineer. The females were clerical and support. Coming straight from college my only work clothes were my church clothes. I worked in a cubicle farm.
The lunch culture was either bring a lunch for the lunch room or the food court at the mall across the street. I brought my lunch and ended up at the table with the payables clerks. They were discussing fertility. And how to get one of the engineers to impregnate them. Too old for the club scene they were pinning their hopes on a divorced engineer who wanted a woman to cook and clean. More than you think got married that way.
The second week I went across to the mall to window shop and eat my sandwich in the food court. I was standing in front of j*welry store when a hand touched my shoulder and said hi. It was the VP Finance who had closed the interview with me. An executive talked to all candidates, for all professional staff. He asked me what I liked and I felt self conscious. He insisted on walking me in and found a nice bracelet and bought it for me. Then took me for lunch at an Italian restaurant.
A clerk from the office saw me and the word got out that I was his girlfriend. And that's how I got the job. I had leap frogged over all of them. The rumors never die. And every time he stopped to talk to me, to take me for lunch, to buy me a scarf, to take me to a ball game, to buy me a car. It all meant I was his girlfriend and I had landed a whale.
I hadn't done anything. A kiss on the cheek, a night out to the theatre to wear my new dress and my new Tom Ford gold necklace he bought me for my birthday. I was his 'work wife', and his nighttime girlfriend. It proved one thing, twenty four was a good age to be single, in a pool of mating males, already chosen by one of the males at the top of the food chain.
I went with him on a trip to Rome and Paris, dinner in sight of the Eiffel Tower, a kiss on the Spanish steps. The picture taken by an itinerant photographer, framed on his desk showing off his 'girl'. The story in the bullpens was first you snag him with a little bit of cleavage, shake of a hip, a kiss on the cheek, serve him his coffee, honeymoon in Europe and then body slam him with a baby. See, the bullpen says, if she can do it so can I.
The lunch culture was either bring a lunch for the lunch room or the food court at the mall across the street. I brought my lunch and ended up at the table with the payables clerks. They were discussing fertility. And how to get one of the engineers to impregnate them. Too old for the club scene they were pinning their hopes on a divorced engineer who wanted a woman to cook and clean. More than you think got married that way.
The second week I went across to the mall to window shop and eat my sandwich in the food court. I was standing in front of j*welry store when a hand touched my shoulder and said hi. It was the VP Finance who had closed the interview with me. An executive talked to all candidates, for all professional staff. He asked me what I liked and I felt self conscious. He insisted on walking me in and found a nice bracelet and bought it for me. Then took me for lunch at an Italian restaurant.
A clerk from the office saw me and the word got out that I was his girlfriend. And that's how I got the job. I had leap frogged over all of them. The rumors never die. And every time he stopped to talk to me, to take me for lunch, to buy me a scarf, to take me to a ball game, to buy me a car. It all meant I was his girlfriend and I had landed a whale.
I hadn't done anything. A kiss on the cheek, a night out to the theatre to wear my new dress and my new Tom Ford gold necklace he bought me for my birthday. I was his 'work wife', and his nighttime girlfriend. It proved one thing, twenty four was a good age to be single, in a pool of mating males, already chosen by one of the males at the top of the food chain.
I went with him on a trip to Rome and Paris, dinner in sight of the Eiffel Tower, a kiss on the Spanish steps. The picture taken by an itinerant photographer, framed on his desk showing off his 'girl'. The story in the bullpens was first you snag him with a little bit of cleavage, shake of a hip, a kiss on the cheek, serve him his coffee, honeymoon in Europe and then body slam him with a baby. See, the bullpen says, if she can do it so can I.
