A colleague said he was ‘changing a light bulb’. Apparently it’s a euphemism for pleasuring oneself at work on NYE with total conviction that no one else is watching. Oh wait, I think I’m having a light bulb moment.
Here's the story.
We had the option of working on the day of New Year’s Eve or taking it as annual leave.
The Melbourne office of my organisation is very small, so I wasn’t too surprised to discover that I was the only taker for not taking the day off.
I was new to the company, and I didn’t have much leave owing, so I couldn’t see the harm in doing an extra shift. Besides: getting plastered before 5pm just isn’t me.
Now, let’s skip to 5pm. I’m ready to call it a day. The office has an upstairs level, used by a different business. Before turning on the security alarm, I decided to check upstairs to see if anyone was there.
I walk up the stairs, calling out, “Hello, hello. It’s Ben from downstairs. I’m leaving now.”
No response. At least, nothing verbal at first. I do, though, hear a rustling, then feet scampering. And then, a male voice, panting.
“Ah, just a sec mate. Just … ah, changing a light bulb.”
I make it to the top of the stairs. I look around and see a head bobbing up and down behind a desk in the far corner.
“Sure mate,” I call back. “Have a great new year.”
Now, something seemed … well, if not fishy, then at least not unlike the smell of men who go to sea – if you catch my drift.
I mean, how many office light bulbs are located below desk level? And are they so hard to change that staff are left panting for breath?
Methinks this gentleman was not really correcting the luminosity of his workplace. Methinks he was … you got it, ‘enjoying his own company’!
I’m guessing he thought it was a day made in masturbatory heaven. No one around, and all the internet bandwidth at (one) hand.
I didn’t really mind. Good luck to him. He’s not exactly a colleague; more like a neighbour. And I say: if your neighbour wants to blow a light bulb, then let him.