monster sarcasm rally

Dear Dirty Old Man,

You are creepy. You are also quite possibly drunk. For these reasons, and a thousand others, I would like you to refrain from touching me. Furthermore, I would like to ask that you talk to me only as much as necessitated by working in the same office.

I will admit that I derived a certain amount of amusement from your behaviour last week at the company outing. You should not, however, leap to the conclusion that we had fun together. When I laughed, I was laughing at you, not with you. This is a very important distinction.

When you introduced me to a fellow co-worker whom I had already met, I smiled out of awkwardness. When you instructed him to go to the bar and get me a drink, I smiled again. This was also awkwardness. When he returned 30 seconds later with my orange juice and you introduced us again, I laughed. This time it was not awkwardness, it was mockery. How you managed to become completely inebriated by 17.30, when we had only been at the bar for 15 minutes, I do not know. I am, however, reasonably certain that you were out of your tree.

When you put your hand on my thigh, I did not interpret it as a friendly gesture. I contemplated causing you serious physical harm. It took me approximately a third of a second to determine that you were not worth my job. However, should you attempt such a manoeuvre again, you may not ever regain the use the offending appendage again.

Since that evening, you have stopped by my desk on several occasions. Each time you have asked the Ferengi if I am 'behaving myself'. Perhaps you believe this is charming. Maybe you are under the impression that this qualifies as small talk. What you probably don't know is that we hold our breath waiting for the office door to close behind you. Then we burst into collective fits of uncontrollable laughter. Again, it should be noted that we are laughing at you, not with you.

Thank you for your attention. Please go away now, or I shall shove my pen up your nose.

Sincerely,
The Sarcastrix