I especially like my life when it entails, during my day job, delivering plans for bidding to a specific lumber yard here in my hometown. When I get to do that, it means I get to walk into a space decorated with raw wood, exposed air ducts, prized big-game heads mounted artistically and the clean scent of cedar. Even better, this place is filled to the gills with men. I appreciate that the place smells like the woods and clean men. I appreciate that they are manly-men, very rugged and, yet, well dressed and clean-cut.
It is a place of men at their best – without women to hinder their progress. These men – about 20 in all – sit at their own desks in their half-walled cubicles. These walls are short enough that the men can talk over them congenially with one another, laughing about their big fish stories and other sundry items that I imagine men talk about. I have a story that these men do not need to be walled in and separated from one another because they know how to get along. I also have a story that men are able to get along because they keep their noses in their own business. Unlike women.
The other thing I like about this place is that the men are actually very friendly and like to joke with me when I come in. They go easy on me, avoiding the harsh or nasty jokes. The men that are in conversation will pause to acknowledge me as I pass before they finish their sentences. I really like that. And, when I walk in, the one man with whom I have continual contact will smile broadly at me, as though I am a long lost friend.
I like it there.
Today, my contact was not there so I placed the plans upon his chair. One of the other gentlemen said, “Are you Geri by any chance?”
I smiled and blurted, “Well, no. But I can be if you need me to be.”
In the back of my head, I realized how much that sounded like flirting even though that was the farthest thing from my mind. And, apparently, my mouth was running away with me because then it blurted, “I can be whoever you need me to be.”
“Really?” He grinned.
I am thinking he was uncertain of where I was heading and felt like he was falling down the rabbit hole. I judged him to be an upstanding religious man that did not flirt with anyone but his wife.
“Well, yes, of course.” I said, still unable to get my brain to catch up with my mouth and stop the utter nonsense I was spewing. In that moment, I realized that “Geri” could also be “Jerry” – a man, so I continued on, “I am very helpful that way as long as it doesn’t require a sex change.”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that…” Apparently, it was just dawning on Mr. Nice Guy that it was an androgynous name. He blushed sixteen shades of red.
A big, burly man who looks like a member of ZZ Top chuckled a big belly laugh and said, “Look at that! You got him!”
“Well, yes I did!” I laughed. “He’s speechless.”
“And blushing,” said ZZ.
Mr. Nice Guy hid behind his Big Gulp cup and I grinned at him. He nodded his acquiescence and waved. He had given up that easy, with his tail tucked between his legs.
My runaway mouth had gotten the best of both of us.
