The Mind of Spaz

There was a time when I wasn’t such a cynical bastard.  A time before I learned the best policy is to cover-your-ass at all times.  A time when I gave trust before it could be earned.

It was early 2001.  I was a relatively fresh faced twenty-two year old, not too long out of college.  I worked at a small corporation in the Toronto area.  The company was so small that despite having been there for barley two years, I had a modicum of seniority.  Therefore, when a new person in the inside sales department was hired, it was my job to hire them.

It did become apparent that they needed someone else.  As happy as my boss was to take advantage of the fifteen hour days I was putting in, when I almost ran into his precious Mercedes with my ’89 Plymouth Horizon, he decided I needed help.

Without much fanfare, my new co-worker was ushered in to my tiny cube.  Her name was “P” (not her real name, although fitting as she did take a lot of bathroom breaks).  She was tiny, five foot one, maybe a tad over one-hundred pounds, and dressed like a librarian with thick, coke bottle glasses.

“Darnit, these types never appreciate my sense of humour,” I thought. “I’m going to have to watch my jokes”.

Little did I know that it wasn’t the jokes that would get me in trouble, but trying to make a sale. Let me explain.

The company I worked for sold equipment to inject chemicals into water supplies, and analyzers to measure how much said chemical was in the water.  There were three words thrown around more than any other: Dick, cock and nipple.  These are industry standard terms, I kid you not.  The dick was our best selling analyzer, because the first three letters of the model code were D1C, therefore, dick.  A cock was short for a corporation cock, a device necessary for proper chemical injection.  And a nipple was a fitting, a tube with threads at both ends, that was vital for putting it all together.

I knew what those terms meant.  My customers knew what those terms meant.  But not everybody knew what those terms meant.

So there stood Ms. Anal library narn, in my cubicle, waiting to get trained. Then the phone rang.  In this business, EVERYTHING stops for a sale. I excused myself from Ms. Mousey and answered the phone. This is what she heard:

Good afternoon Larry, good to hear from you again.  Pardon? You’re having trouble with your cock? Have you tried jiggling it a little?  That didn’t work huh.  Ok, try pulling it out and putting it back in again a few times.  Sometimes your cock can get caught.  If that fails, it’s because you’re trying to push against too much pressure.  Try slowing her down a bit, then put both hands on your cock and apply firm but direct pressure, that ought to do it.

Oh, you need another dick?  That’s not a problem, we always have some in stock. I can ship you one today. What’s that?  Well how much room do you have?  No, your dick will never fit into there.  You’ll need a shorter nipple. Try the three inch – if that doesn’t work, find yourself a two and a half inch nipple. It’ll be tight, but that’ll work for you.

I hung up the phone and looked for P, only to find her missing.  I heard crying coming from the other end of the office, only to find P in the HR persons office bawling her eyes out.   She saw me coming, called me a disgusting pervert, and told me she was going to press charges.

Crap.

It took the sales manager two hours to convince her that dick, cock and nipple weren’t dirty.  He really should have explained what they were before offering to show her, because he was almost included in the lawsuit.

The moral of the story here kids, is that dicks, cocks and nipples aren’t for everybody.  Just the cool people.

‘Nuff Said.

dumb things I do to myself, social commentary cock, dick, lawsuit, nipple, pervert, sexual harassment, work