YOU make the call: Was my coworker hitting on me at the xmas party, er no?

First, before we begin, HELLO NEW FOLLOWERS! Welcome to the love fest that is Mrs. Hall!

And for those lurkers out there, I still enjoy your visits! (wink)

So- let's begin the discussion, shall we?



First, let me explain my work. I am a Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner. I work at a mental health outpatient clinic as an advanced practice nurse. I prescribe mental health medications and tend to my patients as a nurse. I love my job.

Next, let me explain the coworker. His name is Herb and he's a psychiatrist, one of three I work with. He is older, mid to late fifties, good looking and very laid back. He has very un-politically correct sense of humor. He is subversive and very kind to me. I liked him immediately.

Of the three doctors, I go to him the most with my newbie questions and concerns. I could say to him, "I set a patient on fire!" And he would say, "Meh, just spritz him with a bit of water and see him back in two weeks, it'll work out." He listens as I struggle. He teaches me the art psychiatric care. He shows me how to practice without burning out.

He is my mentor.



This is where it gets tricky. I am the youngest woman in the office by 10 years. He notes this. He also notices my fashionista tendencies. Not in an uncomfortable way, but he notes it. There's a line here. A weird professional line between different generations and different genders.

He is a ladies man, never been married. He's funny. And like his off color jokes, I take it all in stride. Because I know who I am.



Now let's get to the Christmas Party.

We are sitting on bar stools directly across from each other. He is gregarious and funny, as always. I am not drinking. Mr. Hall is at home, watching the kids. Herb is drinking with class. But perhaps he is drinking too much. The man enjoys his brews.

He keeps looking at his phone because he's being getting a slew of text messages. He holds the phone far away, squinting to read the text. I told you he's older.

I call him out, asking him what his girlfriend is texting him about. Because that amount of texts can only come from one place, a woman. I ask him why he's never been married. I tease him about being old. There is a slew of us, all sitting close and almost yelling to be heard. The bar is getting crowded.

He starts to talk about his girl friend. She's twenty three. Ten years younger than me. And she's a stripper. I all but do a spit take. I think he is kidding. But he's not kidding! He shows me a photo and yes indeed, there they are- her stripper boobins.

I ask him what he was thinking, dating such a young girl. He replies, "I wasn't thinking much besides she has a body that's out of this world." I smile because he is being honest and owning who he is. These are admirable character traits. He whines a bit that they don't have anything in common, nothing to talk about. I laugh because it's funny.

It's getting late and the women of the office have all but left. I stay, utterly fascinated by the men and their talk. I laugh and really enjoy myself. I really focus on being myself because I am not one of them. I am not part of a bawdy boys club. Just a coworker who blushes at such things.

And I am honest throughout this chatter. I see each of them, gauging my reaction. I am not shocked or offended. Just fascinated and happy to be there. It is a Christmas Party after all.



Then the doctor drops a bomb. He tells a really disgusting and really dirty joke. I feel it gently explode in my belly. I avert my gaze, look down, practically shutting my eyes.Everyone gives a hardy laugh. I open my mouth and mimic their laugh. And I squirmed. And laughed.

I laugh because it was funny, yet I squirm. Dirty jokes are about sex and here we are, telling jokes about sex. I am much too innocent to be here but yet here I am. And I did laugh. Cause it was funny. I closed my eyes and laughed.

And THAT'S when the good doctor leaned forward and put his hand on my knee. FOR THE ENTIRE DURATION OF THE LAUGHTER FROM HIS JOKE. A good fifteen seconds while people laughed. It was a funny joke.

It was at that point I decided it was time for me to go. Gathered my coat and switched seats. And I stayed about twenty minutes more. I stayed because the underbelly, hard drinking and carousing of men fascinate me. But . . . I knew it was time to go when they planned on hitting the club where his girlfriend worked.

And no matter how fascinated I am, that is not a place for me.

Well, not without my husband I mean.


for photos of Mr. Hall, who is not an older man, click here.


And when I get home I tell Mr. Hall all of this. He says, "Herb was just trying to comfort you, trying to make you feel comfortable."

But maybe he was just hitting on me.

YOU make the call, which is it? Was my coworker hitting on me at the Xmas party, er no?