HARASSMENT

Via the miracle of email, the Human Resources department at the school that bafflingly hired me, informed its’ employees that ‘Sexual Harassment Seminar’ season was upon us once again. Whoopee! Grudgingly choosing one of the provided time slots on my computer, I contemplated attending another of these mandatory meetings on this tired subject. The only purpose I could ever come up with for these needless meetings was to remind the administrators and teachers, custodians and security guards alike, that even though it might sound like fun, fucking a seventeen-year-old student was wrong and would be frowned upon.

The lectures were always dry, somber affairs, delivered by joyless lawyers with bad comb-overs, who accented their serious notes with the use of an archaic slide projector. If only the powers that be were to put me in charge! I could turn this dull non-event into the not-to-be-missed highlight of the academic year. White wine spritzers, Coronas with lime and Bloody Mary oyster shots would be passed by a handsome catering staff – just to loosen the crowd up a bit. In the background, I would have “Smooth Operator” by Sade, “Sexual Healing” by Marvin Gaye and the B-52’s “Love Shack” playing softly. Then I’d pull down the shades, dim the lights and ignite a few musk-scented candles. In an effort to make the presentation more interesting, thought-provoking and dare I say it – titillating – I would forego with the boring black and white projections and instead show full-color photo slides courtesy of my Mac laptop’s Power Point program. These informative pictures (staged and shot by me) would sensitively and artistically re-enact common forms of sexual harassment to be found on the job:

Slide 1 – A leering bespectacled female executive stands with her hand on a young assistant’s firm buttock as he bends over to pick up a pencil - a small tear runs down the boy’s angelic face.

Slide 2 – A grubby middle-aged businessman, his shirt far unbuttoned to reveal a lace bra and hairy chest, suggestively licks a cherry lollipop as his female interviewee sits, nervously perspiring.

Slide 3 – A vomit-encrusted fat boss, half-dressed as Santa, straddles a Xerox machine, photocopying his enormous naked ass as party revelers recoil in horror.

Slide 4 – Two men stand side by side, peeing at urinals, one of them (played by me) oblivious to the other man’s gawking, envious stare at his (my) massive member.

And so on…

Just give us something – anything – to liven up the deadly proceedings!

The dreaded day finally arrived and I entered the characterless conference room to sit among my fellow co-workers, who all seemed just as pained to be there as myself. What? Awww-Jesus-H-Christ!!! No complimentary coffee even?! Then without fanfare, the head of HR - a bland, reed-thin black woman – walked in, accompanied by what by all appearances could only be classified as a 2004 Playmate of the Year. Peroxided blonde, voluptuous and wearing a snug tweed skirt topped by a clinging silk camisole, the welcome newcomer radiated surefire confidence by way of smoldering sex appeal. The entire room suddenly sat up and took notice. Our drab representative introduced the statuesque temptress as a lawyer from some multi-named firm and the seminar commenced.

“Thank you for hostin’ me here today at your prestigious institution.” she began, with just the slightest trace of a Southern lilt. “You all shoulda received a booklet on your seat to bettah follow along with me. Now, before I start to go over the rules and regulations concernin’ the matter of sexual harassment in the workplace – does anyone have any preliminary questions they’d like to ask me on this topic?”

My hand went up.

“O.k. - you there in the back.”

I rose to my feet and inquired - “Are those titties real?”