Tuesday. The copier jammed. She swore softly, a sound like tearing paper. She bent at the waist to open the lower tray. The office was a tomb of clicking keyboards. She stayed there, bent, for thirty seconds longer than the mechanical task required. The air grew heavy. It felt like a test. If I spoke, I would break the spell; if I looked away, I would fail it. I held my breath, watching the geometry of her exhaustion. She was showing me the weight she carried. She was letting me see the part of her that could not see me.
Regardless of the intent, if it’s making you feel awkward or distracted, the best move is to maintain your focus If it’s accidental: this office worker keeps turning her ass towards me
Not once. Not twice. But with a rhythmic consistency that suggests it is no longer a coincidence. Tuesday
Note what was happening at the time (e.g., during a meeting, near your desk) and if there were any witnesses. She bent at the waist to open the lower tray
"Because it was in my line of sight," she said, wiping her hands on a sanitizing wipe. "Your presence is an ocular hazard."