There’s a compelling reason to never, ever EVER date anyone that you work with; if it all goes wrong, you still have to see them every day.
Here’s Jonesy, with a tale of office romance that didn’t end happily ever after:
“I met Claire at work. She had the instant WOW factor; proper crazy crazy hair, dark thick rimmed geek glasses and a slash of crimson lip gloss.
I immediately sent my spies off into the office to find out her status… Bingo! She’s single! I set about my charm offensive…
Fast forward to Sunday and I get a message from her:
‘I’m walking my dog near yours today, fancy meeting up?’
‘I’ll see you in an hour’.
The afternoon passed, it was fun, light, we got muddy, went for a pint, ended up having Sunday lunch. She was charming, smart, witty, sexy as anything and best of all single… result!
‘We must do this again’, I said.
‘Yes, why don’t you come over to mine during the week? I’ll cook you dinner’.
Now, getting to hers wasn’t an easy task; it was a two hour round trip home from work and back to hers, involving a few miles walk, a bit of public transport, a lot of luck and some military planning and timing.
She picked me up for the last leg of the journey, but immediately complained: ‘You’ve not brought any wine!’, so I stopped off and picked up a bottle (which she then described as “shit”).
We got to hers, and she started making supper.
‘Jonesy, could you chop some veg for me?’
‘Sure, what are you doing?’
‘Oh, I’m just going to the garage for a spliff, it helps me relax.’
What followed was a slow moving nightmare; spliff after spliff was smoked, she drank her way through 3 bottles of wine, including the “shit” one I bought.
I ended up cooking my own dinner while she merrily got wasted, we argued about my lack of knowledge of Irish history (of all things ), she read performance poetry at me while swaying about the living room, and eventually she told me to go,
It was only 9 o’clock, but my taxi home wasn’t until midnight. She lived in the middle of nowhere, so I phoned the cab company:
‘Can you come get me NOW please’
‘ok, be there in about an hour, quickest we can do’
Another hour drags by. More spliffs are smoked. And then:
‘oh Jonesy, phone them back. Tell them to come at midnight like we said.’
‘Why the hell would I do that?’
‘Cos I’ve not had sex for 6 months and I want you right now, right here.’
‘Golly’ I believe I squeaked in reply.
The alarm bells are now ringing, but hey, I’m a man after all and true to form I rang the taxi back and arranged to get picked up at midnight. They tell me it’ll cost more as I’ve faffed them around, but hey, I’ll be getting laid right? The little devil on my shoulder approves while the angel walks off tutting in disgust.
‘Meet me upstairs in five minutes, I’ll shout when I’m ready’ she purred as she stumbled up the stairs.
15 minutes go past and not a word. I creep upstairs.
‘Hello? Claire? Is everything ok?’
Opening the door, I see her flaked out, stark naked on the bed, snoring, muttering and farting away without a care in the world.
I threw the duvet over her and retired to wait for my cab. When midnight came, I realised that I was locked in the house with no way out… I frantically tried to wake her, and eventually she stirred.
‘Jonesy, make me a cuppa please’, she asked.
‘How about no and you let me out instead’.
I got into the cab.
‘Good night, was it mate?’
I shot the cabbie a look that would curdle milk from 50 yards and sat in silence all the way home.
The next morning I bumped into her at work.
‘Mention what happened to anyone and I’ll get my brother to come around and kick your head in, we’re connected you know’.
I chalked it up to experience and decided to always listen to the shoulder angel in future.”
Blimey. Thanks Jonesy. Now don’t do it again…