It’s late, I’m tipsy (“errrrrybody in the club”) and I’m thinking about the stories we tell when we’re propping up bars and making new work friends.
These stories they almost never get old, the who shagged who way back when stories. I love them. Nobody died, somebody necked too much Absinthe and the rest is workplace history, as they say.
I’ve been that girl in my time, who hasn’t? But now I’m settled, now I’m older and wiser, I live my life vicariously through the tales.
You learn a new story every time and it might sound mean to the outsider, but they’re (almost) always retold with love, rolled out at the same time of evening, like after dinner Scotch.
I’m staunchly against harmful gossip though. I mean, I love secrets obviously but I can keep them. There’s work gossip and then there’s the other stuff. There’s a difference, you know?
The couple who are not so secret swingers? Okay to gossip about since they’re so open about it. After hours shag in the office? Fair game if you ask me.
Shagging the boss? A bit of a grey area but since some of it was in front of colleagues, why not?
You get where I’m going right? The dos and don’ts of work gossip. I hope you do. It’s been a long day and I’m going to bed now to dream about puppies.
I didn’t personally do anything gossip-worthy tonight, but I did learn way way too much for my poor innocent heart to take.
I loved every fucking minute.