Potato salad and arranged marriages

There's a distant coworker who is dangling me on purpose. I can sense it. At some point, there's just no other explanation. He is responsible for putting through paperwork that will transfer a color printer to my agency. I was designated "point person" on this very important acquisition. So I e-mailed him several times on this subject. His replies were sporadic and vague, and his promises yielded no positive results.

Next, I called him. He was charming. He even semi-flirted, within the narrow confines of today's sexual harrassment-leery atmosphere. He swore he'd start the paperwork. I hung up, happy to have finally connected with him. But he never came through.

Last week I even visited him in person. That was a funny encounter, let me tell you. I happened to be at his building one morning. I asked directions to his cubicle, just walked right over to him and introduced myself.

Picture a guy who is now avoiding your e-mails and calls, having to look you in the eye and account for himself. To make the scenario better, picture him with a mouthful of potato salad - I'd caught him while he was eating his lunch. I was sort of squicked out that we had once semi-flirted by phone - as was he, probably.

Anyway, more promises, more promises. And sure enough, no follow-through. He is taking advantage of the fact that, because I don't work in that building, I don't know the lay of the land. I have to take his word for everything. He has all the power in this relationship, and none of the accountability - unless I make another trip to his building, which we've already discovered is really a non-threat because, again, I have no leverage on his attention span.

If we were dating, I'd be obsessively writing "Mrs. Potato Salad Man" on my notebooks and waiting endlessly for him to propose to me.

Next, I must take this to my supervisor. Hate to do that; it's like admitting defeat. But if I myself went over his head to his boss, the news would get broadcast everywhere, and I'd get smacked down seven ways to Sunday. And then I'd never get my printer. Elevating the aggression will have to be done from the supervisory level.

Heh. I'm picturing this issue moving up the food chain to the level where Potato Salad Man and I actually share an administrator. Then that person (undoubtedly a man) would simply make one call and poof! the deed would be done.

Comments

[Anthony]

I'v never been hit upon by any co-worker of mine, which (given the utterly Junior Anti Sex League nature of many of them) is a blessing.
Best stick to going to the student store at noon. Grrr!
All people under 30 should be shot. Too young, too much hair, too much energy, all those flat stomaches and endless vitality. Can't stand 'em!

[pam]

Then who would make the new babies? Don't answer that; I think I know your mind.