Sleepwalking my way through life: When we don't talk about sex...



When we don't talk about sex...

Originally written last night.

The office is warm, and I wake up with the pang from my can of coke. The talk between my team has died down and I try not to lose my mind in the monotony of work. Click click read click read click type type type click and print; before I know it, Iā€™m lost in a forest of unreturned letters and national insurance numbers. I work a few cases ā€“ or more, time ceases to exist in the tax credits forest ā€“ and I am brought back to reality, my ears perked at the sound of my name.

My manager and the girl who sits beside me are laughing and talking enthusiastically. I sit between the two, so any discussion they have usually involves me ducking down low, but this time I sit up straight. They were talking about my blog.

Within ten minutes of their discussion, my website was emailed around the team. At the meeting that followed I was forced to explain myself in front of the congregation, how I had not (repeat, not) mentioned any names at all and had only made two references to my manager. I also had to confirm that I do not (repeat, NOT) stalk my manager and write fantasies about her wearing kinky underwear.

Welcome to the calibre of conversation at the tax office.
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3 Comments:

At 6:50 pm, Anonymous eddmun said...

That was close. You nearly got dooced.

 
At 10:01 pm, Anonymous Elisabeth Ice Cream said...

They WANTED you to write about your boss!!!!!!!!! *gasp* They WANTED it!!!! Oh!!! Maybe.... maybe the wanted to Dooce you? ai ai ai... *sips tea*


ps: Im going to meet Aidan and Kiiiiiwiiiiii, and you are noooooooooooooooooooooot. Mwhahahahaha.

 
At 10:02 pm, Anonymous the same Elisabeth said...

irrrr, Link!

 

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