Ok, we have this client that sells lumber, or roofing, or something like that. I don’t really care, I just fix their network. Anyway, they upgraded all of their computers (trust me, it was long overdue), so they needed somebody to set up the pc’s at all their satellite offices. And “somebody” means me. So this morning, I go & get on a ferry for about an hour to get to this little hick town on the other side of Puget Sound. From there, I have to drive a few more miles to get to an even more distant (and far sketchier) hick town. I think it’s worth noting that within a block or two of this place are a strip club (with the charming name of — I swear I’m not making this up — Tony’s Topless Bar & B-B-Q), a sex shop with no windows, and several tattoo places.
So I go there and set up the new computers. The guys that work there are all very hot, but dumb as rocks. The hottest of the guys, we’ll call him Dude #1, seemed to be flirting with me a little bit. He kept leaning over my shoulder (like way closer to my personal space than necessary) to ask what I was doing — and the crazy thing is, he doesn’t even use the computers in the office. But hey, I have no problem with getting a cheap ego boost from a cute dumb guy. Meanwhile, one of the sales reps (Dude #2) also seemed to be flirting a little, which made me start to wonder if maybe these guys just don’t know how to act because they aren’t used to having women in their office. It seemed like a good probability. But then, when Dude #1 was out of the office for a minute, Dude #2 asked me if I “like to party”. Being the naive little thing that I am, I honestly wasn’t sure what that meant. I knew it was something bad, and I figured it probably had something to do with sex or drugs, or possibly both. I kind of shrugged and said I didn’t know what he meant. He kept asking me, “Come on, do you like to party?” So finally I went with what I thought was a safe answer and said “Well…. I suppose that on occasion, in my own little yuppie, girly sort of way, I guess I like to party.”
Turns out my suspicion was correct. He & Dude #1 were about to go smoke weed over in the lumberyard, and he said I seemed like a cool girl & asked if I’d like to join them. So there’s a first, I’ve never been offered drugs at work before. I politely declined the invitation — I explained that I had another appointment after I left their office, and at least an hour & a half driving time to get back home, and that I just possibly couldn’t do that stoned. (Nevermind the fact that I haven’t smoked weed in a coon’s age & have no desire to do so because all it does is make me sleepy & quiet.) They left & came back about 20 minutes later, completely baked out of their minds. They seemed like relatively harmless guys, so the whole situation actually struck me as quite funny.
Oh yeah, and one of the computers is set up in one of those hutch-style desks, and the guy had back issues of “Playboy” stacked on the little shelf above his computer. I suppose I should be thankful, it could’ve been one of the more graphic or offensive magazines. Still, porn & drugs in the office — that’s quite an operation they’re running over there. (Hey gclark, I finally saw “The Girls of Starbucks” issue; you were right, it was lame.)