Yesterday was an interesting day at work.
Which is not something I usually get to say. Trust me. I work as a project manager for a pharmaceutical company.
Monday traffic and meeting madness aside, things were looking pretty perky by 9am. Because by 9am, I was staring at someone’s boobs.
Let me back
that thing up.
I was meeting a brand spanking (ahem) new colleague to explain how great the department was, what kinds of things she could work on, and
the dress code what to expect in the coming months.
The woman was in her 30s, attractive and friendly. The conversation started in the usual way: “How long were you without power [because of Hurricane Sandy]?”
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something unusual. Something not quite right. No, no, it can’t be, I thought to myself. I let my eyes dart down.
Yup. Yup. Oh my god. Black. Lace. Push-up bra. Cleavage many would pay to see. I felt my ears turn as crimson as her blouse. Of all the buttons to pop when she sat down…
I had known this woman for five minutes. How could I tell her we’d already taken things to the next level? But could I make it through the rest of the meeting without saying something, and then hope she’d use the restroom? No, that was just cruel.
“I’m sorry I’d want someone to say something if it was me,” I blurted in one breath, “I think one of your buttons came undone.”
“Oh no, it’s just this shirt,” she said, swinging the droopy silk collar that dangled over her va-va-voom.
I said nothing and waited for her to look down.
“Oh jeez,” she cringed once she realized what I talking about, and quickly fastened the rogue button. She thanked me for telling her and carried on with her earlier point.
Just like that. I had to give her credit. A little while later, she bid goodbye,
“I’m off to meet with [Mr. Big Boss] now.”
“Great – it was wonderful meeting you!” I replied smoothly, wondering how disappointed the Big Boss would have been if he’d known what he missed out on.
Later that morning, I had time to
giggle reflect. I gasped, remembering: This wasn’t the first time I’d seen someone’s bra at work!
My very first year on the job, a middle-aged woman I’d only just met grabbed me and pulled me into the ladies room.
“I need help! My bra!” she whispered, eyes wild.
I watched, stunned, as she freed one arm from her forest green turtleneck. I tried to figure out what was going on. Everything seemed normal. Except for all the parts that were totally fudged up.
I soon realized what she needed me to do. I reached down her shirt, grazing her moist, freckled back, fished out the dangling shoulder strap and re-hooked it to the front of her bra.
I left the bathroom in a daze. Twitter didn’t exist yet, so I saved the story for my sister-in-law-slash-coworker, who still fondly recalls Bra Lady.
You probably think this is the end of it. Oh-ho no. Peppermeister (Husband #1) read this draft post and reminded me of the crème de la crème.
A couple years ago, a coworker in her mid-30s returned from vacation in the Bahamas, eager to show me pictures from her trip. Call me crazy, but I’ve always been fond of vacation photos. Anything to escape the drab, gray cubicle walls.
I walked over to her desk and she pulled out a manila envelope.
“I hired someone to take these pictures while we were there,” she said, shy yet excited. “He said I could be a model.”
Each 8 x 10 photo featured her bikini-clad bod on the beach.
“You look amazing!” I gushed, admiring her toned figure.
She looked up and down the hall and then whispered, “I have to be careful about some of these.”
She flipped to the next few photographs.
And there she was.
It’s been two years, and I still don’t have the words.
Anyway. Today I’m bringing a wallet full of singles to work. Just in case.
Have you ever felt like a boob at work? Any good wardrobe malfunction stories?
***Hurricane Sandy Update: We finally got power back on Sunday night! My mood’s as boosted my coworkers’ chests! Thank you again for all of your well wishes! …Annnnd just kidding. Power went out again at 5am today (Tuesday).***