typea_all (6 page)

     "Tell me about your day."

     I quickly summarized a boring day of work and shopping.

     "Getting a little more anal with the seat cushion thing, aren't you?"

     "No. I just want to keep my car clean. There are all sorts of germs and dirt at work, so this way I can clean the car easier when I want to get into it with clean clothes."

     "If there were a Neurotic Olympics you'd get a gold medal."

     "Very funny."

     "You'll have to wear the new underwear for me. And the scrubs. I just love a girl in uniform."

     "How's work on your end?"

     Ryan had one of those middle-management positions in a large tech firm in Cherry Hill. Not a techie, he writes how-to manuals. His career path was kind of fixed, but he loved what he did and they liked him.

     "Boring as usual. I hired a new assistant and spent most of the day in meetings. I think I have to go to Chicago tomorrow, but I'll be back for the weekend."

     We talked about thirty minutes and made plans to get together at his place for the weekend. I'd go shopping with Marcie and then drive over to his place.

     "You still planning on coming to my place for the weekend?" he asked.

     "I'm thinking about it."

     "Well, it's your last chance to get an orgasm by the end of the week."

     "You really think I need you for that?"

     "I know you're self-sufficient, but some things are just better when not done solo."

     "Okay, you talked me into it. I'll be there."

     "And bring those red, white, and blue socks you have. Very patriotic, and I'll give you a one-gun salute."

     Ryan always said his favorite outfit on me was just a pair of socks.

******

     I spent the rest of the night drying and ironing clothes while I watched my soaps, and then did some email.

     One of the things I love about the Internet is all of the free stuff you can get. After sending email to my friends, I surfed the net for free offers, and filled out a few forms. Getting stuff for free is a hobby of mine. I not only do it on the Internet, but also buy magazines of all types and send away for free offers. Sometimes, it's not that easy.

     A few weeks ago, for instance, I saw this ad in a magazine called Baker's Monthly. It said call for a free sample of low fat cake mix. Now there was an offer made in heaven -- it was free, low fat, and cake -- so I dialed the toll-free number and asked for the sample.

     "I'm sorry, but we don't send free samples of our products," the voice said.

     "Well, I have your ad right here, from Baker's Monthly, and it clearly says call this number for a free sample."

     "There must be some mistake in the ad. I don't know anything about that."

     "Could you please check with your supervisor?"

     "Well, I am the supervisor. The advertisement must have been a mistake."

     "There was no mistake. I think this is bait and switch, false advertising, and fraud. If you don't send me the free sample, I'll report you to the Federal Trade Commission."

     "Aren't you getting a little too serious about a sample?"

     "It's not the sample that counts, it is the principle. You just can't run ads that promise all sorts of things and then change your mind. It's not American, and it's not legal. Can I have your full name and title please? And who is the president of the company?"

     "What do you want that for?"

     "I'm keeping a detailed log of this conversation, and I will report you to the president. You call yourself a supervisor, and you know nothing about the company's advertising policies."

     We yelled back and forth about another minute, and then she took my name and address, and promised to send me a sample.

     That was fun.

Chapter 5

The next day, I put on a new pair of panties and set of blue scrubs. The scrubs felt comfortable but I put on a light blue t-shirt under the top just in case I needed to peel off a layer. In the mirror I looked great, for early in the morning. I also wore my Picture Postcard earrings. They had nothing to do with work, but they matched the color of my scrubs. One was the front of a postcard with a palm tree and blue sky; the other was the opposite side that looked like an address and message. They didn't hang down, so maybe nobody would feel like touching them.

     I started driving to work and something stuck me in the rear end. Something hard and sharp. I pulled over and felt around but couldn't feel anything.  I drove another block, was stuck again right between the cheeks, and pulled over.

     This time I felt it. I must have pulled off the price tag in my new panties but not the plastic thing that holds it. You know want I mean --- a piece of plastic with two things on the end so you have to cut it to get it out. I forgot to cut it.

     Now there was no way I could work all day with this thing sticking me in the behind.  I didn't want to yank it out and ruin new $2.99 panties, so I tried to wiggle it back and forth hoping it would break. That's not easy to do when it's behind your back, down your butt, and you're sitting in the car with a steering wheel in your chest.

     I slid over to the passenger seat and looked in the glove compartment for a knife or scissors, but couldn't find anything.  So I wrote, "put scissors in glove compartment" on my list, and went back to bending the thing back and forth.

     I was having no luck at all, and then I heard a knock on the window.  Here I was, sitting in the passenger seat, parked on Ventnor Avenue with my hand down my panties, and Officer Walker was looking in the window.

     "Is everything all right Brooke?"  Now he's on a first name basis.

     "Everything's fine. It's just a tag I can't get out."

     He flashed a great smile and looked at my hand down my pants.

     "New panties. Plastic tag. You know how it is," I said.  Did that sound as stupid as I thought it did?

     "Yeah, I know," he laughed. "Sure you're okay?"

     "I'm fine. Thanks."

     "Nice earrings, by the way."

     He started to walk away and I realized I wasn't okay. I was getting late for work and I knew the thing would drive me crazy until I got there, so I beeped the horn a few times to get his attention.

     "What can I do for you?" he said.

     "Can I speak to your partner, the policewoman?"

     "She's not my partner. She was just riding with me for training the other night."

     "Whatever. Can I speak with her?"

     "Sure. But she's not on duty today. You can call her at the station tomorrow."

     "That's okay. Thanks anyway."

     "My pleasure."

     Now I was desperate. So I beeped the horn once more to get him back to the car.

     "Brooke?"

     "Do you have a scissors?"

     "I have a small one on my Swiss Army knife. Why?"

     "Listen, this may seem a little strange, but I desperately need you to cut something for me."

     "Let me see," he said, then he opened the door and sat in the driver's seat -- my clean seat, without any paper or seat cushion! I wasn't really prepared for that; now I'd have to clean the whole thing.

     "I can't get this tag out of my pants and it's driving me crazy. Could you cut it off?"

     "You want me to cut the tag out of the panties?"

     "That's right. One snip and no looking further than you have to."

     "Okay with me."

     I thought about it.

     "Here's the plan. First, you clean your hands and the scissors with that spray stuff I have in the back seat. Then you get the scissors ready.  I'll pull the tag up as far as I can and then you cut it in half. But do not cut the panties. They're brand new, from Wal-Mart."  He didn't have to know that last part.

     Officer Walker sprayed his hands and this tiny little scissors that folded out from a pocketknife.

     "That's the scissors you have? What kind of scissors is that?"

     "It's the only kind I happen to have."

     "It's so small."

"It's always worked before."

"You'll have to be practically down my pants to cut anything."

     "I thought that was the general idea. Anyway, it's the sharpness not the size that counts."

     "I bet you say that to all of the girls."

     "Listen, do you want it cut or not?"

     Not much on foreplay, is he?

     I pulled the top of the panties out and up as far as I could, and tucked the back of my scrubs as far down over my ass as I could. No sense tempting the poor man, yet anyway.

     "Okay. Now!"

     He wasn't as quick as he could have been. He reached over and tried to cut the plastic.

     "Hold still, Brooke. You keep moving."

     "I'm trying to hold still. Do you think it's easy doing this in a car?"

     "You're moving it."

     "Your thing is just too little."

     "My thing is fine."

     He tried again, and then finally said, "Listen, this is the only way I can do this."

     He slid one hand down my back and grabbed my hand holding the tag. Then he bent over so his nose was almost in my panties and snipped off the tag.

     "All done."

     "Great.  I hope it was as good for you as it was for me.  And you can move your hands now."

     "Do you want me to pick out the two pieces of the tag?"

     "That's all right. I can do that.  I really appreciate your help."

     "Anytime.  Now drive carefully."

     "Thanks. And by the way, I think now that you’ve had your nose and hands down my panties, I should know your first name."

     "Luke."

     "As in Cool Hand Luke?"

     "Except I can promise you, my hands are always warm."

     It took me about 15 minutes to calm down, cool off, and find the pieces of the tag after he left.  Can't blame that hot spell on estrogen, though. Then I started laughing hysterically. Luke Walker must have gotten a lot of grief after Star Wars came out.

     When I got to the parking lot at work, I took my spray bottle and cleaned the front seat where Officer Walker sat. Then I grabbed one of the seat cushions from the rear and opened it onto the driver’s seat so the car was ready for me after work. With the cushion, the seat wouldn't get so dirty from my work clothes and it would save me some time when I cleaned the car that night. What a great invention.

******

     Work went fine that day because I had a lot of time to think about Luke. It’s not that anything could happen between us, I was sort of committed to Ryan, but thinking about Luke kept my heart going just a little faster.

     You see, I don't really have much of a work ethic and I need more than the routine to keep me going.  I work to eat. I work to make money so I can do the things I like. I like to exercise. I like to cook and bake. I like to sew. I like to clean. I really like to clean. But I don't like to work.

     As an employee, I do everything I'm supposed to, and with a smile on my face. That's what I'm known for, my smile. My mother taught me "every thing that shines is a diamond."  I wasn't sure exactly what she meant by that, but I took it to mean that I should have a positive attitude.  So, except for getting up in the morning, I enjoy life and make the most out of what life gives me.

     But the job is not what comes first to me. When the boss wants volunteers to work extra hours, I become invisible. I'm the phantom of the hematology lab. When someone needs a fill-in for a weekend or holiday, I become camouflaged. My body changes to the color of my environment and I melt into my surroundings. My motto is "Never volunteer and never take a hint."

     "Saturday's my birthday and I need someone to fill in."

     "You'll find someone," I'd say.

     "But who? I don't know who to ask."

     "You'll find someone," I'd repeat.

     "I've told everyone. If someone would only volunteer."

     I melt into the centrifuge and spin out of sight.

     Over the years, the disappearing act got easier and easier. But then there was this other problem. I'm not a girl person. I'm a guy person.

I never liked hanging around after work with the girls in the lab, or my fellow teachers, and talking about girl things. I don't bond well with others of my sex. I like hanging around guys.  So what that I know nothing about sports, or cars, or fixing things, or whatever the guys talked about. I just liked being around them. I like the smell of testosterone. I like the way guys don't listen to each other when they talk. I like that they don't ask each other to join them in the bathroom. I like the stupid things they say trying to impress me.

     Do I need a man in my life? I don’t think so.

     Do I want a man in my life? It depends.

     Can I have one man and think about another? You better believe it.