I'm a Snob

I seem to have a reputation in my office as being a bit of a snob.

Well, among my female co-workers at least. The guys around here couldn’t give the slightest of shits.

We have a hot receptionist, it has to be said. Quite the looker. All the guys in the office here always seem to find something to do that requires them to go past reception.

And then they stay there, chatting about their pets, their house and their weekends. Before long, they’ve invited her out for a night with their mates (if she’s not busy).

Invariably, she is always busy. But I can’t begrudge the guys here for at least giving it a whirl.

And the guys here all flirt with the women, and the women giggle and laugh. And then they scorn the not-so-attractive guy who tries to flirt with them.

And then they scorn the guy who they perceive is a sleazy womanizer, who spends his whole conversation regaling their breasts of his weekend exploits.

But I’m a snob, apparently.

Because I don’t spend half an hour chatting with the receptionist. Because I don’t invite them out for drinks after work. And because I don’t feel compelled to flirt with them.

Hmph. I never thought I’d be labeled poorly as a result of me treating the women in this office as the professionals they are… or at least WANT to be…

Then again, maybe I am doing this all wrong. Maybe I should leer lecherously at their second-eyes. Perhaps I should invite em out for some fun. Perhaps I should go around slapping them on the arse, and saying, “Lookin’ good today, toots”, before “shooting” them with both my pointer fingers.

After all the times they’ll refuse or resist my “charms”, I’ll suddenly stop one day. I’ll be polite. I’ll be a good boy.

Maybe THEN I’ll get thanked for not staring at their boobs, for not trying to chat them up and for not whacking them on the arse.

Because NOT doing that gets me labeled as a snob.