He May Not Be a Real Officer, but He's a Gentleman

It's 7:30, and I just got home from work. That fact doesn't bother me so much, considering I didn't come in until 10:00-ish and zoned out for a good hour after that.

What I do hate is that every evening around 6:30, the powers that be shut off the air conditioning in the building. As if working late weren't bad enough, now I have to do it with sweaty pits.

There is one saving grace to staying after: our night security guard. I don't know his name, but his eyes are perpetually red, and he has a lovely, lilting accent that I can't quite place. Somewhere in the Carribean is my guess, but since I never could figure out just where in the world Carmen San Diego was, I'm not the most reliable source.

As I slave away amid the heat and numbers and spreadsheets and stock splits, he faithfully appears every evening that I'm here past the 6:30 mark. He carries a clip board and spends most of his time making the rounds, randomly opening and closing office doors.

He always slinks up to my threshold.

"And how are you dooooing?" (Insert lovely, lilting accent of unknown origins.) "Are youuuuu still here? You are toooo pretty to be working this laaaate."

I'm not sure how my level of attractiveness figures in, but I'm glad for the compliment anyhow.

"Oh, I'll be leaving shortly," I always say, as if wishing it could make it so.

"No, no. You must staaay and keep me coooompany. I am loooooonely, and it makes me happy to have you here."

I never know what to say, because I am suspicious by nature and worry that if I respond positively, he will ask me out on a date for jerk oxtail sandwiches and dancing. I don't like either.

But, if I respond negatively, then maybe he really will be sad. So, I typically mumble something that sounds like, "Oh, ha ha. You'll be . . . uh . . . you know. Hmmm. Take 'er easy. Ha ha."

It's good to know he's here for my safety and my ego, but, there is one thing that my Night Security Guard in Shiny Polyester Uniform can't protect me from. There's an evil plot growing within the walls of my office building, and thy name is Candy Corner.

Some devilish fiend stocked the Candy Corner of Hell with delicious York Peppermint Patties. I love Peppermint Patties. It's chocolate goodness and fresh breath all in one aesthetically pleasing disc. The perfect thing when both the pressure AND the temperature are turned up here at the office.

I, however, find elastic waist bands less than perfect, but if I keep succumbing to the lure of the Peppermint Patty, that will be my only option. What's a girl to do?

Someone needs to get on the ball with chocolate flavored toothpaste, yo. Ya'll can have the idea for free, but I would like first crack at being the spokesperson.

"When I brush my teeth with Min-T-Fudge Toothpaste, I feel like a new woman. Sure it may look like poo coming out of the tube, but it tastes sweet and fresh like a field of organic Oregon mint."

On second thought, maybe I'll just go home and have a cocktail.

Tell me about the crazy people you work with in the Comments section. The person with the best story gets an evening of jerk oxtail and dancing.