Shy Boy

There’s this guy who works in my office, one row over, and I think he might have a little thing for me. I’m not sure just how young he is, he’s old enough to be working there permanently and at something one step up from entry level but he has a baby face.

My job went from being a relaxed administrative assistant to a grumpy clerk who basically does glorified data entry most of the day. Type up a list of numbers, then head back to the printer for all the sheets that the program printed out that I have to then merge with the correct invoices. So, I print a lot. Frequently. Sometimes large batches.

Sadly, I don’t have my own printer. At the back end of every other row is a printer. This guy doesn’t work in my aisle, he’s on the other side (our “adjoining wall” sides are a little over 5 feet high, the cube separating walls are a little over 4.5 feet high) but he uses the same printer as I do. It’s a given that most times, someone else’s stuff is mixed in with mine. For some reason he’s not real adept at finding his stuff, and I’ve got the method down pat and can flip through the stack in mere seconds. He’s taken to occasionally teasing me that I purposely print out a batch of shit right when he prints out one page. And even though I couldn’t possibly know, lol, we end up back there at the same time frequently.

When I walk by his row or he’s in mine, I catch him staring at me.

The other week, as he walked in the thru-way aisle that’s just in front of my cube, I stopped him.

“Hey M, did they put more toner in yet?”

He looked down at me over the shorter partition and fumbled for his words. Pretty much, no, they hadn’t.

Then I realized the view he just had.

Poor kid.