The assistant manager of the store, whom I shall call F-, has been asking me about my sexual habits each day since, oh, I've started working there. I've devided to, largely, ignore him. The manager and finance manager have directed nothing more then half-hearted "Lay off Jonathan" equivalents at him.


A week or two ago, my mother came to pick me up, and I walked out, as I had done many times, leaving a half-finished reorder list. He called me back and started berating me about work ethics, and leaving my job unfinished.

Something snapped.

I yelled at him. Something about responsibilty, and decency, and asking after my dick every five seconds. Then I walked out.

The next day, he talked to me, while I was making that day's list. He was babbling on about how he was always "talkin' fool", and how "real men" don't walk away from fights. I could hear the edge of fear under his voice; he could report me to the owner, but then I'd have to tell the owner what he had been saying, and we'd beoth lose our jobs. I've only been there two months, he's been ten years. He's the assistant manager, I'm a sales rep. He has a wife and several kids. I'm in college. He had more to lose than I did.

I didn't react, didn't do anything, just waited until his batteries ran out, and continued to do my job.

Why? Because I'm not a dick. I don't want him fired, I just want him to stop.


See, there's this girl who works at the office.

She been asking me if I wanted to go to the movies for several weeks now.

Always with this big grin on her face. I bobbed, weaved. I avoid confrontation like I'm playing fricking tag.

"I'm asking you a straight question, Jonathan."

"It's the answer that's complicated," I murmur. Where are those register rolls?

"What does than mean?"

"It means," chimes in the Financial Manger, from her desk, "That he doesn't want to go to the movie with you."

Thank you, Ms. K-.

"But why?"

I find the roll and scurry off.

Today, while I was in the office looking for something else, she comes up behind me (without my notice), and strokes my back, saying "Hello, Jonathan." I go "Hell—", and my autopilot disengages, and I finish with "What the frick?" I didn't go "bad touch! Bad touch!" though I could have.

After near-fighting my way out of the room-she wanted to know why, Jonathan, why won't you go to the movies with me?-I escaped, and angsted about what I thought was a come-on to a coworker. He suggested I just go out with her.

Later that day, she cornered me again. I simply told her I wasn't interested in a relationship. To my surprise, she burst out laughing. She wasn't looking for a date, she was just asking me out as friends. Golly, is my face red.

As Ms. K- informed me, I needed to work on my social skills. Gosh, I don't know how I could misinterpret repeated attempts to get me to go to the movies, affectionate little touches, and physical restraint. Must be those ol' social skills. She started blathering on about a socially-inept, 36-year old cousin, and I stopped listening entirely, after thinking Wasn't that a Steve Carell movie?


Thursday. Late. Girl comes in. The first thing I notice is that she's kinda cute. The second thing I notice is that she has awesome boobs.

I'm 19. These are the things I notice.

Anyway, she wants to print a few files off a floppy for her sister. To her dismay, it's seven slow-printing pages. To pass the time, she opens Explorer, and types in Fanfiction.Net in the search bar.

Thank you, Lord.

I step in at a healthy fraction of the speed of infatuation, and bring up FF.n in Firefox. We chat for a little about fanfic,(she even goes to COB!) and I showed her mine. She was just getting toward the second half of "Engorgement" when the pictures finished.

She closed the window, and walked off.

The End.