by Jack Waggon
I am an instructor at a local fitness center. I've been working here for several years. Our company is owned by a couple who live several states away. They come to town three or four times a year to see how things are going. About a week ago, the female member of this couple -- I'll call her Jane -- arrived for the quarterly visit, this time without her husband. As usual, the local manager and select members of staff got together that evening for dinner and drinks, which migrated to a club where Jane and I did quite a bit of dancing. As the evening turned to morning, we ended up in a taxi together headed back to her hotel.
Things would have gone further had she not passed out in my lap. I helped Jane to her room and left her on the bed and went home. The next day, she stopped by the center and pulled me aside, but not to apologize or ask me not to talk about what happened, as I was expecting. Instead she told me she was thinking about moving to Memphis.
She's convinced we had sex. In fact, she's convinced it was wonderful. How do you tell the person who signs your paycheck that you did not, in fact, have sex with her? How do tell her you don't want her to move to Memphis so you can move in with her, no matter how much it could potentially improve your career? Don't get me wrong. She's a fantastic lady, a few years older than me but she takes great care of herself. Thing is, I'm already in a relationship, and to be honest I'm just not that into Jane. I had fun dancing with her and maybe would have enjoyed a friendly roll in the hay, but I certainly don't want to be Mr. Jane. Neither do I want to be Mr. Unemployed.
Strangely enough, a similar thing happened to me once a time. There was this hot babe from work I had always wanted to go out with, but because of my job situation I didn't think it would ever happen. One afternoon at a company party my chance finally arrived, completely unlooked-for. Things were getting hot and heavy when she threw up in the floor of my car, then passed out in my lap.
Of course, we were drunk off beer we'd stolen from her dad's company picnic, she was my boss' daughter, and we were both sixteen. How old are you again? Seriously, haven't you learned by now that you don't get nasty with the boss? Or the boss' wife, daughter, cousin, sister, mother, brother, father, son, or husband? When that inevitable moment comes when you gaze into each other's eyes across the distance of your noses, you should politely but firmly peel yourself loose and seek safety in the company of others. Run, Forrest, run.
My advice to you is to lay low. Practice corporate invisibility. Next time the boss is coming to town, take the week off. Pray she forgets about you. My guess is she will. Jane probably has a guy like you in every town where they own a business. That bit about moving to Memphis was probably just her way of gauging your interest in becoming her regular port of call. But if she seeks you out, if she goes all Glenn Close and kills your bunny, then CYA. Get everything on tape.
Got a problem? Let Jack Waggon set you straight: firstname.lastname@example.org