“Well, the doctors tell me it’s a boy, but his penis looked tiny on the ultrasound.”
With this sentence, he was snapped out of his trance. Even with his headphones in, he had no choice but to overhear these words. His eyes diverted from his laptop screen up to an imaginary point directly in front of him. His expression was one of a person at work trying to look like they were in deep thought, and he was actually in deep thought, thinking to himself, “Did I really just hear ‘tiny penis’ in the office?”
“That’s something I should never tell him when he grows up. He would kill me if I said I thought he was a girl at first because I couldn’t find his thing.”
His attention was broken, his productivity ruined, and he now had to listen in to this conversation.
“So, when are you due?”
“In three months… Just three more months till I get this thing out of me. I can’t wait to drink again. Plus my sex life with my husband just isn’t what it used to be.”
Was he dreaming, or was he hearing this conversation take place in plain sight, out in the modern open-cube layout that the wannabe Apples and Googles of the world have adopted?
The exchange soon drained out, and he turned the volume back up on his earbuds just in time to hear the drop in “Pillowtalk.” The lyrics, he reasoned, were much more office-appropriate than the talk he had just endured.
Later in the afternoon, he was again working hard (for once) to meet an impending deadline. He had two options: either work balls to the wall and leave at a reasonable time or slack off and leave well after the sun goes down. Again, his ears perked up at the the sound of something unusual.
“Well, a lot of people wanted beads, and a lot of the girls were willing to show something to get some of the beads.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“No, I would’ve felt uncomfortable but some of them were,” she paused, looked around, puts her hands around her mouth, and whispered, “Wearing black X’s taped over their nipples, so you couldn’t see anything besides their skin.”
At this rate, he wasn’t going to be leaving the office until 8.
Again, later in the evening, he had his head down, music up, and was intently focused on getting his work done. He was approaching the end, working on a dashboard to send to the client prior to a status update call, the third version of said dashboard since the client couldn’t make up its fucking mind about the format.
A woman in her late 30s opened her office door to ask the group of four 20-somethings still left in the office a question.
“What does it mean to ‘Netflix and Chill’? My boyfriend just texted me asking if I wanted to ‘Netflix and Chill’ once I got home from work. Does he want me to, like, pick out a movie to watch? I don’t get it.”
Not willing to field this question, he started highlighting nonsense in his notebook, making himself look busy while trying his best not to break out in laughter.
The whole entire situation was just getting to be unfair. He welcomed the time when two of his coworkers were discussing their support for Donald Trump. He yearned for the time he was told about how yoga is a religion. He looked back fondly on the times people joked about the crazy eHarmony accounts they’d seen and meet-ups they’d encountered.
He packed up his laptop, and headed home for the evening. It looked like he’d be working that weekend..
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