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Dating someone from work – of all the poison chalices, this has to be the most poisoned – it’s the ricin of misconduct. Like laughing during mass, or smoking out the hotel window – you know its wrong, but it feels good. I myself have sipped from this dastardly cup and in doing so not just blurred the lines between the personal and professional, but erased them all together. Still, as an office maverick, I am not governed by convention. In fact, I recall being asked to sign the company’s ‘code of conduct’ at my induction – straight after, I threw my copy in the bin. Yep, that’s how I roll.
There is of course a certain cachet in dating a colleague, and the closer the working relationship, the greater the prestige. Also, one can have additional larks at work: laughing by the photocopier, saving the adjacent seat on training-days, and that most golden of moments – stealing a kiss in the lift.
When it’s good, it’s amazing – lifting the soul out of the corporate rabbit hutch, and into the oil-painted wonder of a late Rossetti. Everything seems that little bit brighter.
Conversely, when it’s bad – it’s hellish. I have suffered personally at the hands of the Head Office harridans. At work we have a communal canteen – known fatuously as the Scully (incredulous as it sounds, the ghastly name was the result of a competition. Yes, someone was actually rewarded – as opposed to punished – for dreaming up that appellation). I remember being gently mocked by the kettle after Lindi, the CEO’s PA, rejected me. I say ‘gently’ as they were laughing quietly, but it was probably fairly caustic stuff.
This is not to say I have given up, quite the reverse – I like a challenge.
Which brings me on to Charlotte from Finance. Charming and beautiful with a sense of humour to rival my own, Charlotte was one of the greats. To say that I was in-love with her was inaccurate. I was however deeply in-like.
Given that Charlotte was tall and blonde, I pictured myself with her as some kind of ludicrous Rod Stewart figure. Minus the fame, money and improbable hair. However, like Rod, I did have a patchy back-catalogue peppered with moments I would rather forget.
I do not work for an attractive company. In fact, sometimes I feel I am holding the fort by myself. Still, in the midst of such mediocrity, Charlotte’s Finance team stand out – renowned for their looks and charisma, they are a firestorm of sexual magnetism.
My own department, HR, is the polar opposite. Collectively, we are grey sexless drones – in accordance with HR law. Despite our forced cheeriness – our office is a fun-free zone, our function a drab affair. We are the arbiters of skewed justice and petty bureaucracy.
We are the cake-baking adjudicators, charity-poster creators and senders of insincere group emails – honestly, when it comes to fakery and faux-initiatives, our oily reach knows no bounds. We are the rod that is never spared.
Come on, we rebranded the Christmas party as “The Winter Party”, for goodness sake.
In summary, I learned long ago that it is not appropriate for an HR person to be sexy – I would even say it is disadvantageous. Perhaps one of the reasons my career had floundered of late.
Last Thursday, my colleague Jess walked into the office and closed the door. I knew what was coming.
“Go on,” I said.
“You’ll never guess who I just spoke to.”
“Oh god, I don’t know. I hope this isn’t something involving me.”
“You’ll be pleased, trust me.”
She threw herself into her ergonomic chair and wheeled over.
“You look mental,” I said, “this had better be good.”
She raised a hand, “Charlotte likes you.”
I felt the blood drain from my extremities.
“Bloody hell,” I said, “what should I do?”
She leaned back, “brilliant. The great Marcello lost for ideas – I am going to remember this day.”
I turned on my desk fan.
“Don’t worry,” Jess said, “I’ve got a plan.”
