As you all know, I am the owner of two of the most kick-a#* businesses in town, Hold Onto Your Buds Flower Shop and Sausage Fest Family Restaurant. And I’m an awesome boss, probably the best any has ever had, which is why it concerns me that my female employees make me sexually harass them.
It has become a serious problem, and as both a professional and a gentleman, it needs to stop. These ladies come into work looking all hot and stuff, with their hair smelling like girly shampoo, and their skirts and tight clothing, saying sexy things like, “Good morning, Mr. Van Daniels. Have a good weekend?” Seriously, with these women doing what they do I have no choice but to sexually harass them.
Like one of my favorite comics the late Patrice O’Neal used to say, it’s like making a bear work in an office with salmon drizzled in honey and expecting him not to go crazy. Seriously, ladies, if you come in wearing a low-cut blouse, tying your hair in a bun and wearing glasses like a sexy librarian, you’re forcing me to look you up and down and ask if I can “get some of that.” Or, in my flower shop, if you bend over to pick up the order of exploding tulips that just arrived, you’re basically grabbing my hand and placing it on that fine booty of yours. Mmm!
This needs to stop. I’m a respectable gentleman. I have a gold membership at the Byron City Gentlemen’s Club, I always support the community college’s bikini car wash fund-raiser, and voted for Hilary Clinton in ’08 (even though she’s a crazy liberal and a MAJOR tease).
Stop forcing me to check you out, give you uncomfortable compliments, provide unrequested shoulder rubs, and saying things like “showing a little more leg won’t kill ya.” Stop making me end your sentences for you with phrases like, “That’s what she said,” or “…in bed,” or “…and that’s when I dropped my pants.” As clever as it is, it’s unprofessional.
Stop making me bring a pair of random panties to work in the morning and then say to you in front of everyone, “Hey, you left these at my place last night.” Stop making me attend the work Christmas party as “Naked Santa.” And at the end of the workday, stop making me whistle at you and say suggestively “Can I get a ride?”
This can all stop if you just act more professionally and stop dressing all sexy for work, stop bending over to pick things up, stop smiling seductively when you take a customer’s order, and stop undressing me with your eyes. I’m the best boss on the planet. And let’s keep business on the upside. Or whatever position you want. See! You made me do it through the computer. That’s what she said. Ok, I’m done. And that’s when I put my pants back on. Ah! See how big of a problem this is? That’s what she…dang, I’m done. I’m done.