THE TYPING POOL

(Based on at least one man's real life recollections of mixing business with pleasure.)

I walked into the typing pool, to a "Good morning" call.
The girls all had "those" smiles for me: I had slept with them all!
This was the 'swinging sixties', of mini skirts and the Pill,
The girls were wine to be enjoyed, boy did I get my fill!

It was quite then excusable to leer and pinch and grope;
Use language to make granny say, "Wash your mouth out with soap!"
To suggest your secretary took more than just notes down
As price to pay for joining you in a night on the town.

Last day office parties were an excuse for naughty fun,
When drinks would flow and hands would roam upon a tit or bun.
Girls had to let the manager have a drunk Christmas kiss;
Fear saying no might cost their jobs made them put up with this.

The stationery cupboard or the filing cabinet
Could be places moment's pleasure led to later regret.
Desks found themselves bearing much heavier weight than paper
Taking the place of bed or couch for amorous caper.

Then technology came in, took the typists' jobs away.
Now managers type their own papers in course of working day.
You cannot be too forward with a female underling,
Now sexual harassment is a charge that they could bring.