Don’t bother, guys, his free back rubs are only for the ladies.
Albert Grohper is a bit handsy.
According to a number of coworkers, though they live their lives surrounded everyday by the lines of cubicles, reports, graphs, itemized receipts, restrooms, and cafeterias, somehow the lines of social propriety evade Mr. Grohper.
“It’s getting out of control,” said Meredith Wen, a clerk that has the unfortunate position of occupying the cubicle next to Al. “I constantly have to find excuses to not be around whenever he gets up. People must think I have the bladder of a scared puppy. Oh God, here he comes.”
We approached Albert as he came near his cluttered desk and, after telling him we were doing a piece on the struggles of women in the workplace, we posed a few relevant questions to him.
“If they wanted us to take SEX-ual har-ASS-ment seriously,” Albert responded, with a cheeky grin. “Why call it that? I mean, come on. Think about it. The ladies are toying with us again.”
“I’ll never understand ’em. They tell me to my face that I’m such a great massaginist, and then they go behind my back and report me to the boss for ‘unwanted touching.’ What the heck?”
At this, Meredith couldn’t help but roll her eyes in noticeable exasperation.
Albert caught us glancing and said, “You talk to Meredith already? Don’t bother, she’s gay.”
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