The other day my boss called me into his office. Not my boss, but her boss. The Boss. (Not to be confused with Springsteen, though if they have anything in common it's probably that they both bathe regularly in swimming pools full of money (or so I can only assume)). And why is it that on the rare occasion when I am called back there is always a small part of me that secretly hopes it's because I'm doing such a fantastic job and he wants to give me a raise? Spoiler alert: nope. But I guess you don't make swimming pools of money by giving people raises.
"Have a seat," he gestured, barely looking up from his computer. I did, and finally he sighed and turned to face me. "So, I know you and [Not-So-Secret Admirer] are dating," he said.
"We're just friends," I said, my hands flying up unbidden to form the universal symbol for No. Stop. Wait a minute.
"Well, that's not what I heard," he said.
The over sharer in me desperately wanted to tell him that we haven't even kissed, and that where I come from, people who hang out and don't kiss are called friends, but luckily the rational and professional part of me jumped in just in time, and I said nothing.
"Well, I know that you went to a party at his house," he said.
I wanted to say that a lot of people went to the party at his house, but as I opened my mouth to speak he held up his hand in the universal symbol for You will let me speak, minion.
"Anyway, it doesn't matter. The point is, you work with payroll, and a lot of other confidential information. You hear a lot of things in this office that should never, ever leave the office." He continued on in this vein, as I nodded, of course, of course, a bit stunned, and assured him that I was "very discrete." (I could have chosen any adjective in the world, and the one I landed on in that moment makes it sound like I spend my free time trolling for dates in the "Casual Encounters" section of Craigslist. Great.) "We're just friends," I concluded, for no apparent reason at all (and why do my hands keep doing that?) He grunted, which I took as my signal to leave.
In other news, work continues to suck.
UPDATE: Sitting on posts for a week is never a good idea, as they are sure to become rendered utterly and completely moot by the time I get around to posting them. Case in point: Not-So-Secret-Admirer is quickly becoming ancient history by now, as I've never seen anyone pull a faster slow fade. And if you think rejection gets any easier when you're not sure if you're particularly attracted to the person, let me fill you in--it still sucks.
Meanwhile, if anyone needs any confidential payroll data, you know where to find me.