Sie isst Maenner fuer Fruehstueck

If I were a more direct person, I'd tell people to get the hell out of my office. Yesterday morning gives proof to why door locks were invented and any teacher's office desk should be at least one meter in width in which to deter unwanted office visitors.

I'm checking my Outlook and cursing the fact that my work-issued laptop is emitting a critical battery alert sound every time I receive a new e-mail. At the door, a colleague stops by and asks if she can take my picture. I find the request somewhat odd, but agree as it is a "caught you in the act of actually working" sort of shot. She fumbles with the camera, turning it off before she's able to hit the snapshot button. I'm mildly irritated because not only am I trying to deal with an annoying sound, but now I find myself helping a colleague in a non work-related task that I find is wasting my time. She's finally successful in taking the shot after some coaching from my part. "Thank you," she beams from the doorway.

It's at this point that I think the interaction is over, and I'm already clicking on the Control Panel of the computer to change the sound settings, my back turning away from her. To my surprise, she says from the doorway, "I know someone who likes you," in a sing-song voice.

Now, it's at this point that a streak of panic runs through me because there are at LEAST seven men that I know of that send "I kinda like you vibes" in varying degrees (one gives me free coffee all the time, another writes poetry "inspired by me," another aids in tcb-ing of work-related issues I have, etc.). These men range from service workers, administrators, to fellow faculty members. My mind does a quick mental Rolladex to try to figure out which of these guys she may know and how much I need to play dumb or say, "Yeah, I know," -- information which is vital to have because all of the above affectionate crushes could give me an even more incredulous reputation than I already have (I'm 95% sure the "security guards" at my compound think I'm a prostitute).

I respond with a raise of the eyebrows and a cool, "Oh really? Who told you this?"

She breaks past the threshold of my office door, stops at the front of my desk, and leans over so that her face is 2 inches from mine and whispers, "A Yemeni friend."

I push back in my office chair to avoid her essence of stale cigarettes. Knowing completely who this is now, I'm relieved that it is who it is, but a little annoyed that people in public are singing my praises to people I work with. Is there no separation between work and my personal life to be had?!

I casually say, "Yeah, I got the feeling," and act nonplussed as she prattles on about his interest in me. In my mind I think, "Note to self, ask _____ to never mention me to this colleague ever again." Thankfully, my computer senses that I need an out, so it beeps obnoxiously as a new message enters my Outlook Inbox. I interrupt my colleague and divert her attention to my computer's problem. It's a shiny enough segue to deter her and give me an out to the exchange.

Here's to you, old Dell! You've managed to get me out of a social bind, one of many I perceive to encounter this week as occupational politics heat up during finals week. I'll buy you a Coke tomorrow.