And After Dinner, Just Desserts

Submitted by Donna:

I worked in a big doctors' group practice through most of my 20s.  It paid most of my way through grad school.  While there, I met a lot of wacky patients, but even wackier were some of my coworkers, like Roger.

Roger would make a fart-sounding noise with his mouth every time he entered or exited a room.  He'd tap my head whenever he walked past me, and continued to do so even after I asked him to not do it (starting with the first time that he did it).  Also, he stole my pens.  Roger was that guy in the office.  He wasn't a bad fellow, but he was like the kid brother who was still stuck in Neverland.

Karl Adams was an intern fresh out of med school when he started work in our office.  He was everything that Roger wasn't: intelligent, charming, and very, very handsome.  Karl would go out of his way to hold a door open for me (with his wedding-ring-less hand), or smile with every "Good morning," or pass the time with a quick chat on his way from one place to another.

It didn't take too long for me to be smitten.  Of course, workplace decorum meant that I had to hide my feelings, but there was no rule on fantasizing.  No rule at all.

As if in answer to my wishes, Karl asked me out on a Monday for a following Friday.  I was so excited, I bought a new outfit and had a nervous stomach all week, leading up to it.

Dinner, drinks, and a steamy make out session later, I was certifiably head-over-heels for this guy.

The following Monday, envelopes started appearing on my desk, one every day.  Within each was a seemingly random number, printed out on a piece of paper.  Nine, thirty-three, twenty-five.  I had no idea who was behind it, although my suspicions were on Roger.

When I asked him if it was his work, he denied it.  Maybe it was Karl?  Some sort of game?  All of a sudden, it stopped being stupid and it became exciting.

The next time he walked past my desk, I said, "Nine, thirty-three, twenty-five."

He stood stock still.  "How do you know that?" he asked.

I held up the numbered papers.  "You left these here for me."

He grabbed them out of my hands and crumpled them up.  "You've been going through my desk?" he asked.

I had no idea what he was talking about, but the conversation was going places where I didn't want it to go.  I explained that the papers appeared on my desk, that I thought he was playing some sort of flirty game, and that I hadn't been through anything of his.

He didn't say anything to that, but stormed off, in the direction of where his small office was.

The next morning was another envelope on my desk.  This time, a sentence:

"Ask him about Mrs. Adams."

When Karl came in, I did indeed ask him about "Mrs. Adams."

"You know about her?  You have been going through my stuff," he said.

I shook my head and held up the paper.  "A little birdie told me," I said, "Is there a Mrs. Adams, Dr. Adams?"

Karl hardly came by my desk at all after that.  Roger did, though.

"How's Karl?" he asked.

I asked him, "How did you find out he was married, you little spy?"

Roger explained that Karl was nasty to him from the get-go, that Roger had seen Karl and I getting close, and that Roger had discovered, from spying in the mailroom, that Karl had, stupidly, mail delivered to himself at the office under the names "Dr. and Mrs. Karl Adams."

More spy work on Roger's part yielded the combination to the padlock that Karl kept on a drawer in his desk.  Presumably, it was where Karl may have stored said mail.

"Have you been spying on me?" I asked him.

He nodded.  "Yes, but only to protect you.  Karl's an asshole."

To thank Roger for watching out for me, I took him out to lunch.  I didn't want him to have a mistaken impression about anything, though, so I told him that I was just interested in being friends with him.

Wouldn't you know it, he said, "I have a girlfriend.  I just watch out for my friends."

After that, whenever he made a fart noise in the office, I couldn't help but smile.  But I also watched my back.  Thanks, Roger.