Go F*ck Yourself

Every time there is someone new in the office, we always ask them about their preferences. It's some kind of a ritual everyone goes through. However, it is a really mean game. We give the newbie a choice between two people and ask him who he'd rather sleep with. We do this until we have exhausted everyone in our depatment.

There is someone who is the last person everyone chose to sleep with. He happens to be mad at me just because I said that the two commercial models he dated dumped him. There was nothing wrong with what I said, considering that everyone knows his story since he has been whining about it for months on end.

It's pretty sad since he and I used to be really close.

Our stations are next to each other in the fourth floor minipod. I know that he cannot stand to breathe the same air as I do and each time I work there, I can feel hate waves emanating from him. I don't hate him at all. I feel, well, pity. I happen to be the only person who could put up with his whining and wishy-washiness. Oh well. His loss.

Let's call this guy E.

Last Friday, the other trainers and I were at Amici in Don Bosco. It is one of our favorite Italian restaurants. Over pizza, sausages, pasta, and gelato, the new trainers were grilled.

Apart from the Who Would You Rather Sleep With Game, there is another question: Would you rather do E. or be E.?

Suddenly, Glory realized that I have never been asked this question.

After some thinking, I answered, "I'd rather be E. so that I can do myself. He really needs it."