GUEST COLUMNIST: Just a girl in the working world

I was propositioned at work the other day. A scruffy guy in his mid twenties leaned towards me and asked if I would care to spend the evening with him and a bottle of Jack Daniels. "I don't like being a third wheel," I told him. Now the really funny thing is that this incident was nothing out of the ordinary. Perfect strangers hit on me at work constantly and after I give them virtually no encouragement. Where do I work, you're probably asking yourself. Am I employed by a bar or a nightclub, do I maybe entertain as a showgirl? And the answer to all of the above is no, no and (honestly) no. I work as a barrista in a suburban coffee shop. I make espresso and cappuccino and serve brownies. Yet somehow, a very motley crew of gentleman have responded rather over zealously to my charms after I give them their change and say, "enjoy." I have made one very hard and fast rule at this job : Never mix work and pleasure. Although, in my case, it's less of an actual rule and more of a survival tactic. As I look back upon my work experiences I realize that over time I really have collected quite a special group of people. I hardly know where to begin -- all of the former potential suitors just pop into my head so vividly. There was a middle aged university professor with one leg. He happened to overhear that I'm an English major and kept offering to give me classic novels. He thought we would really enjoy "talking" about great authors. I kept running away to hide whenever I heard him wheel in. Then there was a slightly younger but equally bizarre conspiracy-theory type. One day he told me that the aspartame in diet soda was really a government mind control agent. He was convinced the government had secret plans to bomb major American cities for suppposed "population control reasons." He kindly asked if I would care to join him in his hideout in the Grainbelt. I was forced to turn down his very attractive offer. Fortunately, this winner also believed that FBI agents were hot on his tracks because he knew too much top secret information. He eventually left town. The list scrolls on and on. I also became acquainted with a high school sophomore who fancied himself as an opera singer. His idea of talking me up was to come in and begin a discourse on Mozart or Brahms. Not that I don't enjoy good music. But please, I never ever want to hear prepubescent boys serenade me with arias from Don Giovanni. Now, I don't want to give you the impression that I hate men. I really don't. In fact, I'm a big fan of men; usually I like them a lot. A whole lot. But clearly fraternizing with my customers is never going to take me to a happy place. And I'm not a militant feminist either. I don't want to drone on about the objectification of women in our society and how women are treated like second-hand citizens. My status as a feminist (although I did attend Gloria Steinem's talk) is admittedly a little vague. I think songmasters Rogers and Hemmerstein put it best in their song, "I enjoy being a girl." I do. I like wearing make up and pink miniskirts. I love having my hair done and watching Gone With the Wind. And I definitely enjoy male attention. I like it when doors are held open for me and heavy objects are carried by stronger arms. So if I actually appreciate male attention, why do I dislike my working environment? Well, I gave the question some thought while I painted my toenails this morning and I've come up with two reasons. The first: While at work I'm very busy serving customers and making drinks. And I'm mildly accident prone so if someone is bothering me I'm likely to burn myself or break something. And since I've already broken more mugs than I care to admit, I don't think I need any more detrimental distractions. And the second reason is far more selfish and far more important. Frankly the other reason I don't like the attention I receive at work is because all the men are, well, to put it kindly, a little bit different. Bluntly put, they're very, very odd -- possibly not human. For example, in addition to others, there is a Rob Zombie look alike that has been lurking around the shop recently. He really gives me the creeps. Maybe I sound unkind and shallow, but the reality is that good looking young guys just don't sit in coffee shops and drink cafe mocha's -- unless they're drinking them with their girlfriends. So I think I'm going to stick to my date-free workplace rule. I'll just start hanging out in the sporting goods store up the street during my breaks.

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