Shoot Me…Please

I have not been social with the folks at work much. I’ve never been asked to go out and I’ve never asked anyone if I could join in. This is mostly due to the fact that I feel shy and awkward in social situations and second because of the clicks at work.

Clicks you ask. Didn’t those things end after high school? Yeah, I though so too, but they form mostly due to the different departments having their own in jokes and basically their own language.

So here’s the rundown using the Krasmokinov high school comparison chart created in 1862 by Ivanovitch Krasmokinov who was the first to study the formation of clicks.

Production = Cool Kids (Jocks, Cheerleaders, etc.)

Post = Nerds & Geeks

Script = Punks & Freaks

Marketing/P.R. = The Smart kids who everyone talked to.

Execs = Principal, Vice Principal and other staff members.

So where does that put the web department? Well according to the people I asked, they said we were the kids who were always in detention. That made a lot of sense to me, that's what it feels like. The executives always are checking in to see if we’re behaving properly, but leave us alone as long as we are quiet. People from every other department end up stopping in for a few minutes like they were sent to detention for an afternoon, but knew they were leaving. And finally, I’m stuck at work until all hours while everyone else has headed down to the corner store for a phosphate. So that’s where I fit in, permanent detention. I’ve gotten off point.

So yesterday I’m hearing all of the Friday night plans being made. All of the different clicks deciding which bar they are going to hit that night and as usual I’ll be at work until midnight, quietly serving out my detention and cleaning erasers.

Then the unthinkable happens. One of the Cool kids asks if I want to join her and some of the others for drinks. (At this point she did that little back arch thing so her boobs stood out. My dick jerked, so I know I’m still functioning properly.) I explained my situation and she looked a little disappointed. I suddenly felt very frustrated as she walked away, heels clicking on the tile, well shaped hips swaying underneath a black skirt. She has that long wavy hair that imitates a rolling sea, awesome reigns in moments of animalistic behavior. Aw, fuck!

Not ten minutes later, I’m asked to go hang out with a different group from the Cool kids. This time she’s a blonde, thicker curves, but those blue eyes that are just wicked with electricity. (A.G. think Kath’s eyes.) Again I explain that I’m stuck at work until all hours. Her response, “Well, think about it. We’ll be there a while.” She walks away, tight plaid skirt black tights and boots. What the fuck?

So there I am stuck in detention until 11:00 last night, my only company being Howie Mandel trying to give away one million dollars on one of the most inane game shows ever.

I burned off a bunch of sexual frustration with knee crunches and pushups, a prisoner in television industry jail. I still can’t do a cock push up. Give me time.

This has never happened before, why now? Maybe it’s a holiday spirit thing. Maybe it’s because I’m one of the few straight guys around the office. All I know is I’ve got to find a way to start sneaking out of detention.