The Place of Lawyerly Things has overflow offices on the sixth floor. When I began working here, my stay on Six was meant to be temporary. But it seems my status never changed and I continue to work separate and apart from the Lawyerly Mother Ship. All in all, it has its upsides: when Wonder Admin relocates the fancy post-its to our supply closet, they never go missing; Big Boss sightings are as fabled the Loch Ness Monster’s; and I swear our water tastes better. Sorta like freedom. But the best part of being on Six is the other tenants.
There’s the non-profit that apparently only hires clones of Brad Pitt Circa Fight Club. As I once told a friend, it’s like Heaven trains their angels right next door. We also share the floor with the top-secret sciencey group that brings over cookies. In theory it’s a sweet gesture but no sooner do they drop off the chocolate chips, then Wonder Admin throws them away. She’s convinced they’re laced with some nefarious new chemical and she refuses to let us become hapless guinea pigs simply because we share a floor with science nerds. And until recently, Six was the home of The Singer.
I’ve somehow missed all the tenant transition, but it seems the management company which employed The Singer has left and a new organization of unknown purpose has moved into the space. It’s been over a month but they still have no signage, no apparent clients who come and go, and an all female staff. The building concierge was evasive when Wonder Admin asked about the new tenant’s business purpose. Instead of answering, he hemmed, hawed and then dashed off, all flustered and sweaty. As a result, the Lawyerly People of Six have a new pastime: figuring out what that darn company does.
Theories abound. Lawyerly Colleague speculated it’s a beauty training school, maybe with a specialty in waxing. That hypothesis was shot down when we Googled cosmetology schools and didn’t find one on our street. Wonder Admin believes they are a girl group of assassins. Think Angela Jolie’s organization in Mr. And Mrs. Smith. I’ll concede it’s theoretically possible. But likely? Um, no. Plus, I’m beginning to suspect Wonder Admin is eating the chemical-laced cookies herself. Another Lawyerly Person thinks it’s a nanny service. Like the Babysitter’s Club, but with grownups. Personally, I’m going with phone sex operators.
My guess is based on several factors. First, the building concierge would in no way fess up to renting space to 1-900-SEX-BABE and would be all shifty and nervous if asked about it. Also, I have genuine phone sex operator knowledge. Sure, it’s secondhand, but it’s solid. Many moons ago, before she became Lawyerly, a friend was a phone sex operator. Over the years she’s shared stories, talked in her Sexy Voice when inebriated, and given me handy informational tips like how to make fake spanking noises. Also, we extensively discussed the internal operations of a phone sex company when she was preparing for the Ethics and Character Qualification Interview required in the Ohio Bar Admission process. (Tangent… That was a special interview for her. Imagine a person judging your moral fitness, a person holding the keys to the Attorney Kingdom, asking you to review all your jobs since you were 14 years old. Yup. After you get done explaining that stint as a Denny’s waitress, you move right into Sex Phone Operator. Lovley.)
So, yeah. I am pretty sure that if a phone sex shop moved in next door, I could identify it. But the real red flag was the other day in the bathroom. I walked in, promptly went to my preferred stall, and commenced bladder relief. As I peed, I realized there was a woman in the stall next to me. Moaning. But not in the constipated, it-won’t-come-out-push-harder way. It was more NC-17. Then, Stall Neighbor began sexy talk.
Stall Neighbor: That’s right, baby. That’s right.
My Mind: Oh God. There’s porn going on in my workplace.
Stall Neighbor: You know you love it when I pee on you.
My Mind: Ewwwwwie. Unhygienic. Ew. Ew. Ew!
Stall Neighbor: Listen to me pee on you. Can you feel it, baby? All warm and wet? Does that make you hard?
My Mind: That woman’s not even peeing. How can the person on the other end hear peeing if she’s not even going? Oh. My. God. SHE’S USING MY PEE AS A PROP!
Stall Neighbor: Come for me, sugar. Come for mommy.
My Mind: Pee faster! Pee faster!
As I was washing my hands, she came out of her stall, sporting a headset and a pair of Stuart Weitzman shoes I’ve been coveting.
Stall Neighbor: I hate when they take that long.
Me(in a voice that conveyed total understanding): Clients. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em.
And I skedaddled back to tell all my Lawyerly Peers that Six? It just got AWESOME!
PS: This is what Phone Sex looks like…