One in Every Office

The guy in the next cubicle, asks how my lunch was.

I say it was fine and get back to staring blankly at my computer screen.

“Have you tried that Mexican place down the street?” he asks.

“Nope.”

He comes over and leans against my desk, so that if I turn my head, all I’ll see is his crotch.

“We could go sometime,” he says. “You know, talk shop, get to know each other a little better. I mean, we’re neighbours after all.”

I don’t have to look up to see what kind of smirk he’s wearing, and I can’t be sure, but out of the corner of my eye, it seems like he just thrust his hips at me.

“No thanks,” I say. “I don’t really like spicy food.”

I start typing. Hoping he’ll get the hint, but knowing he won’t. The phone rings, and to answer it I would have to reach over his lap. He stays where he is.

“Oh, I was sure you liked the hot stuff,” he says, inching closer until his knee bumps against my elbow.

The phone is still ringing.

“I should get that,” I say.

“Don’t let me stop you,” he says.

 

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