By Jack
My buddy Jon and I used to work a retail job together. During one holiday season, we were working a gift fair in a large corporate office building down in the Financial Center. The merchandise was set up on tables, and we were using an SE/30 as a cash register and inventory control machine.
At night, we could just cover the merchandise with drop cloths, but we had to pack up the computer into a box and lug it up to the 33rd floor, to be locked in an office overnight.
This particular night, Jon offered to carry the boxed computer up, while I was in charge of the cash box (pretty lightweight).
Now, Jon is in his early twenties, a very clean-cut and handsome guy. He defines the term “jock”: extremely muscular, athletic, short brown hair, cocky attitude, very dry, deep voice.
When we entered the elevator up to the 33rd floor, it was well after 5:00 pm. No one was heading UP at that hour, so we were alone in the elevator. As I looked over and saw Jon struggling with holding that heavy box (easier to just hold it rather than to put it down on the floor of the elevator and then have to pick it back up again), I all of a sudden felt a mischievous streak rising in me.
