Getting ahead

I worked for some years for a freight company in the city. I had taken the job more out of necessity than anything else and I didn’t really like it. My boss was a lady by the name of Jenny, who enjoyed socialising with the male staff — if you know what I mean. It was something of a non-PC environment where anything went and speaking up on workplace issues was thought to be “against the code”.

Most of the guys either shrugged off Jenny’s attentions as being “in good fun” or enjoyed the attention. I worked closely with Jenny and her flirtations seemed harmless enough — I didn’t want to make waves so I ignored them. One night at our end-of-year party, the booze flowed freely and Jenny became more and more forward. People started leaving and soon it was only Jenny, Nicola (who worked downstairs at the reception desk) and I left.

Nicola was busy packing things away and Jenny asked me if I would like a cabcharge to get home. I was a little drunk and agreed that it would be best. She asked me to come into her office whilst she retrieved one from her desk drawer. She told me that I was her favourite staff member and that even though it was obvious that I didn’t really enjoy the job and my performance wasn’t crash hot, there were “other ways” of getting ahead. She also told me that she enjoyed working with me, especially as I gave her something nice to look at each day.

I was flattered but began feeling a little uncomfortable when Jenny closed the door and invited me to join her on her two-seater lounge for a night-cap. She ran her hands over my thigh and asked what I liked in a woman. I mumbled something about needing to get home. She asked which of the girls in the office I liked best and I said that she was very nice-looking, thinking that was what she wanted to hear. Jenny was attractive but I didn’t like the idea of getting involved with my boss as things would inevitably get a little strange in the office down the track. Soon she was unbuttoning her blouse and, my resolve weakened by alcohol, we started to get a little hot and heavy.

Afterwards, she told me that I should be a man and not mention this to anyone. In return she offered me a job in another department with better pay and conditions that I accepted and which ended up suiting me much better. I initially felt awkward about the way that I had attained the new position and have never told anyone about how it came to pass. I have since been given a managerial position but ensure that my staff get their promotions in the appropriate way. I still think of Jenny, who has since been transferred, and often battle psychologically with the details of my own transfer. I’m happy enough now, although I often feel a little cheap when I think of what I did to get ahead.