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Recently, in a lazy and haphazardly fashion, I sent an inappropriate selfie to my boss. I sent it to my real boss, not an understanding coworker who is also down for happy hour. If you’re not having a panic attack at the thought of this, let me elaborate.
There is a time and a place to take a weird picture of yourself and send it to friends. By friends, I mean close friends who are okay with you being in your lowest possible state. By friends, I do NOT mean anyone who should respect you in a workplace setting. Let me elaborate on my own personal experience of a poorly timed selfie.
I was casually lounging on the couch in my post-workout filth, eating a banana. I decided it would be worth my time to send a suggestive picture of myself–“eating” the banana. No, I’m not proud of it. Just kidding, I’m really proud of it. The caption was “banana slings and cock rings,” because my shirt had Olympic rings on it. As I was giggling at my punny self, I realized I had sent it to the wrong person. So wrong. As the blue bar dashed across my phone, my panic attack set in. It wasn’t a Snapchat either, to make matters worse. My heart was pounding, and my palms were sweaty. (Actually, I had just worked out, so my whole body was sweaty. It really added a nice touch to the picture.) There was no way to take back what I had done, because I had an iPhone and of COURSE the only thing it can’t do is stop a text once you press send.
I threw my phone across the room. I physically couldn’t touch the disaster of the cyber mess I just created. I did a few laps around my apartment. I forced my roommate to panic with me. She began to calm me down by saying, “He probably doesn’t look at his phone that much. He’s pretty old.” That was true, except he had his READ RECEIPTS ON. The shame and horror was solidified into eternity.
How would I face work in the morning? How could I look him in the eye? These questions ran through my mind during my sleepless night. But, the cruel world forced me to attend to my professional duties. I woke up, dressed incredibly conservatively, and trudged myself into the office. His car wasn’t in yet. Maybe he accidentally drove off a cliff with his iPhone in his hand? Maybe his wife murdered him, thinking he was having a weird banana orgy with me?
Unfortunately, neither one of those were true. He was alive and in good spirits as he pranced around the office. No words were ever said about the selfie, and I certainly wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up. It will definitely be an elephant in the room forever, but I’m too immature (obviously, see: sexy banana picture) to mention it.
The incident will linger in my mind forever, until I quit my job due to workplace tension and pursue a career in fruit advertisement.