I get paid to schmooze sometimes, which is a-ok by me since I genuinely like most the people (men) I'm supposed to be schmooze. I suppose we can call them "schmoozees" as I can definitely be a "schmoozer."
An aside: Although I'm an office queen bee, I do get corralled into being a charming face (and let's face it, a pair of charming tits) during business lunches. It's nice on my end to meet the voices I hear so often and they can connect a face and tits to the voice that greets them when they are giving us business. Plus, I get free lunch so it becomes an all around win-win.
Again, luckily, I can find positive attributes about most the men I am forced into socializing with; some are big on family (I can relate), some like to drink wine during lunch (hooray!), some like dirty jokes or live music or cigars. Point being that I can usually find something, a common ground of some sort to deal with these strangers on.
You can see where this is going?
Alas, there are others which I cannot. One in particular gives us lots of work, lots of leeway while performing said work, is very talkative and loves to talk to me. But I can't take it anymore! He's so frickin' creepy and tells the most long-winded, sexist stories that I just want to scream.
He has a daughter a few years younger than I am so you would think he would think flirting with me is icky, but when he's with me, I feel like a bought and paid for object. Yuck, it's a bad feeling, let me provide you with an example.
His insurance office has adjusters spread throughout WI, but keep in mind that I've only personally met two of them. One day, I'm forced to meet this adjuster at a storage facility. Normally, I wouldn't have minded so much but I have Lo with me at work and I know this is going to screw up lunchtime and naptime. In Lola-world, these are two "times" of utmost importance, but I didn't really have much choice.
We drive to meet Adjuster and make our way through the maze of hallways to the storage unit. These hallways are really creepy because the lights are automatic, relying on motion sensors to turn on and once you are passed, they turn off. I fully expected zombies to start reanimating at any moment, Resident Evil style.
Fast forward thru all the dusting off and picture taking of contents and resume at the part where Adjuster begins taking pictures of me. HELLO? We are now an hour late for lunchtime and pushing into naptime as well, not exactly prime photo-op time dickweed! Eventually, we skedaddle, breathe a sigh of relief and let the exasperation fade.
Til a week later when Adjuster calls the office. No, he wasn't giving us work, apparently he just wanted to chat. He told me all about how he got his pictures developed and emailed them to all his little adjuster friends! "They are so jealous that I got to be alone in a storage shed with you."
Dude, eww. And we were not alone! We had a rambunctious, hungry, tired toddler there remember? Remember her getting cranky and ornery? Remember why? Because you took f-o-r-e-v-e-r. Because you were too busy taking pictures of me to send to your pervy middle-aged coworkers.
Ugh. Yuck. Ick. I hate being an unintentional object of lust. I wish I could shoot a lust-laser at the people I want to lust after me (Nesto, Scarlett Johannson) and everyone else could just leave me alone.