Get someone else to do it.

"Hmmmmmm....who would willingly do all this paperwork?" You ponder after applying new lipstick.

Suddenly Paulson walks by your desk, and you reach out your hand to stop him. If anyone will help, it would surely be Paulson. He's rather ugly, and kind of overweight, so you're sure that he has no one to see or nothing to do tonight.

"Paulson! I need you."

He smiles. You grimace.

"No, no, no, silly, not that way! I need your help. Do you think you can finish up all this paperwork for little ol' me? I know it's a lot, but you can get some overtime, and plus, I have a lot to do today!"

"So, you can ask requests of us, but when it's the other way around you don't hesitate to turn us down."

"Wait--That's not true!" You retort.

"I heard how you turned down Marky."

"I let him down nice."

And he shot back: "That doesn't mean I have to."

His comment shocks you; without intending to, you release a resigning sigh. You grasp his big hand with both your slender hands, bat your wide eyes, and plead with him: "Please Paulson, be a dear, you can do this for me. Please?"

He's locked onto your eyes; you know you have him trapped. His lips twitch, as though he were imagining what it's like to kiss you. You know he smells your perfume, applied gently. You know there is only one thing that he wants to do--and it's not paperwork.

He reaches forward, his hand glides intentionally over your blouse, and he scoops up the stack of papers on your desk in front of you. He gives a dead look to your eyes: "You owe me, Emily. Okay?"

"Thank you Paul!"

You think about rising to give him a hug, but the thought doesn't seem so appealing, so you just smile up at him.

"No Emily, I mean it; you owe me."

You laugh. "Okay Paulson."

He walks away with that big stack of paperwork in his hands, and shaking his head.

'Dear lonely ol' Paulson,' you think to yourself, 'somebody needs to find him someone."

You smile to yourself as you look down at your empty desk.

"Well, looks like I can go home, since my work is all done." You say. You rise from your seat, the hem of your skirt sways gently along the knobs of your knees.

"Now, who's gonna drive me home?"

Ever since your car broke down, you've been bumming rides from your coworkers, and no matter what time you decide to leave, you can always manage to get some sucker to spend his lunch hour taking you home. The downfall to this, however, is that every coworker now knows where you live! Eh, but that don't matter, they can come over, but it doesn't mean they're getting in.

So now you get to decide which one will drive you home, and you're glad Paulson is out of the selection (He's got a lot of work to do!) since his car has a strange smell in it.