"How come women are the way they are?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know, all mean and stuff."

"How so?"

"Well, I've just noticed that women seem to want, like, the perfect husband. And the perfect husband doesn't exist."

"But women get married all the time. Often to men, I might add."

"Not the same thing. Those are reasonable women."

"So we're talking about..."

"The women on the seventh floor."

"Oh."

"See, I go up and try to talk to them, and they won't talk to me."

"Maybe they're working."

"No, they're just standing around talking or something stupid like that."

"And they won't break off their conversation to talk to you?"

"No! Can you believe it?"

"Those bitches!"

"Yeah. It's almost to the point that I'm not gonna try any more."

"Try what?"

"You know, to pick them up."

"Like for sex on the lunch hour or for a date or what?"

"Something like that."

"Which one?"

"I don't care. Any of them."

"You're sounding a little desperate, man."

"I am desperate. Do you know when the last time I got laid was?"

"I really don't want to know the answer to that question."

"A long time! Way too long. And the only women around me are those chicks on the seventh floor."

"You go out to the bars and stuff, right?"

"Those wenches are scary. I mean, they might make a move on you or something."

"Isn't that what you want?"

"Not from sluts like that."

"So you want one of the women from the seventh floor to pick you up."

"Yeah. That'd be nice."

"But not one from a bar."

"I won't screw a slut."

"Okay, but what if you met one of the women from the seventh floor at a bar, and she tried to pick you up. Then what?"

"Well, I'd probably bang her. Just because I'm desperate and I'd feel a little sorry for her."

"So why do you want all the women on the seventh floor?"

"Well, they're hot. And if they work in the building, they must be halfway smart. Most of them probably have college degrees and all."

"And that's important to you."

"Hot and smart? Does it get any better than that?"

"That's why I married my wife."

"Damn straight! Got to lock them up before it's to late."

"What do you mean?"

"Women like that are hard to find. If you come into one, you've got to get a little paper between you to keep the things good."

"Kinda like the old reserve clause in baseball?"

"Yeah! Exactly! Make it so they can't leave."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah. Gotta get me one of those."

"I see."

"I'm going up to the seventh floor for a little sightseeing. Wanna come?"

"Naw. I think I'll just keep working."

"To each his own."

Jon Worley had two or three conversations this week that were close enough to this one to make him positively queasy.