I really didn't mean to turn you on...

Ok, so I’m at work tonight and wanker boy comes up to ask a question. It’s all good–this is the place for it, right? He’s having problems with finding stuff on his topic and I’m the person paid the big bucks to help him out. So after showing him how to use the databases I go back to the desk and commence reading.

Only I’ve apparently turned wanker-boy on: why or how, I have no idea.

So five minutes later he’s up here again with some bullshit question, pretending to be stoopider than a rock, which I’m apparently supposed to find attractive. So I answer this question, then the next question, ad nauseum. Now he’s REALLY turned on and starts trying to brush up on me and spends the few minutes he’s not at the desk leering at me from across the room. Keep in mind, too, that other people are periodically arriving in front of my throne and asking questions and he’s throwing a wrench in the smoothly-running machine known as the Reference Desk. This is pissing off everyone but him (apparently the simmering anger from the people lining up behind him as he asks yet another useless, moronic question is also an aphrodisiac).

After steadfastly ignoring my polite but increasingly irritated responses to his idiocy, he now decides we know each other well enough to ‘do the nasty’. Where does this budding Romeo decide we should consumate our obviously deep relationship: in the bathroom. Yes, our ‘first time’ (which, call me crazy if you will, but I think should actually mean something) is going to be in a place where people shit. Now don’t get me wrong: I like to shit. It’s one of my favorite pastimes (and it keeps the bowels happy–always important to do that) but I don’t ‘like like’ to shit if you get my drift, and I’m not going to corrupt the sanctity of this toilet, or any toilet for that matter, with some sort of seedy activity for which science has not designed it. It’s the principle of the thing, dammit! So I politely told him that while I’d be happy to help him with INTELLIGENT and LEGITIMATE (yep, I actually had to emphasize the words) questions, library policy discourages employee (nay, even requires them to refrain) from exchanging any bodily fluids with the patrons for health reasons. Then I advised him to leave and he wandered off looking puzzled (apparently he was still working through the ‘bodily fluids’ part).

I guess this isn’t really a rant, but more of a bemused observation of just how stoopidly clueless folks can be when it comes to procreation (or faux procreation in this case). Human’s: can’t live with 'em, can’t shoot 'em! :wink:

Why did I think this was going to be about Robert Palmer or Cheryl Lynn?

I know a guy who used to (he’s all grown up now) ask every female he met if they would have sex with him. His reasoning? “I get my face slapped 9 times out of 10. But that 1 time. . .”

Yea, guess I understand that he was ‘just playin’ the percentages’. In this case though it was two men: one obviously smitten, and the other obviously oblivious and me punching him just seemed like an over-reaction. Didn’t mention gender in the OP b/c I didn’t want to turn this thread into a gay-bashing event but man, what a weasel! And I still don’t get the attraction of bathrooms…