See No Evil, Hear No Evil.

I’ll call him Kenneth. He recently turned forty, but nobody at work guesses his age above about 32. He is tall, dark, not exactly handsome, but very cute. His has twinkling blue eyes, deep dimples, and a knack for making people laugh, especially women. Kenneth is an indiscriminate flirt; any female within a ten-foot radius will be flattered, winked at, gently teased, and made to feel that she is singularly alluring. His wife recently gave birth to their second child.

I’ll call her Tiffany. She is twenty years old, new to the company, and the current talk of the Fab. I heard one man refer to her as “the flavor of the month,” because – as another friend observed – attractive women are like celebrities in a workplace where males outnumber females at least a dozen to one. Tiffany is petite and stylish, with a small turned-up nose and a ready giggle.

I observed their flirtation for a week or two before it became clear that Tiffany was completely smitten with Kenneth.

A year ago, I too would have fallen madly in love with him. I have a history of falling for charmers of his kind, but repeated heartbreak has finally taught me my lesson.

The way I see it, Kenneth is a disaster that has possibly happened, is most likely happening, and is no doubt waiting to happen. However, the fact that I understand this about him does not immune me to his charms. I confess that Kenneth’s flattery makes me feel sexually fascinating, and I find myself spending as much time in his presence as possible. And yet, I realize that I cannot take his attentions personally, inasmuch as he will make several other women feel the exact same way in the course of the day. He charms us not because we are charming, but because he is a charmer.

I worried for Tiffany, partly because of her age, but mostly because of the look I saw in her eyes as I watched her watch Kenneth. I understand that youth does not necessarily equate to innocence; I didn’t become a jaded, bitter shrew until my very late twenties. I hoped that Tiffany had been through some eye-opening experiences in her teenage years, not so much for her sake as for mine: I didn’t relish the idea of witnessing a train wreck. Unfortunately, I could soon hear the telltale rumbling on the tracks.

What I should have done was save my breath. What I did was have a heart-to-heart with Kenneth. I said I knew it wasn’t my place, and I apologized for overstepping, then I went ahead and overstepped. I pretty much told him everything I’ve written here. He laughed at first, but I kept talking, and after a few minutes he stopped laughing and really seemed to listen.

A few hours later, he sought me out and told me that he had given my words a lot of thought. He wanted to assure me that he would be more careful and restrained around Tiffany. He also thanked me for my compassion and concern.

A week later, I watched him nearly go off the handle because his lunch hour was unexpectedly delayed by a few minutes. This was so out of line with his laid-back nature, I immediately knew something was up. When he left for lunch I followed him to the smock room (where we get into and out of our cleanroom “bunny suits”) and sure enough, Tiffany was there waiting for him. Two trains on a collision course.

At the end of my favorite movie, when the Scarecrow asks Glinda, the Good Witch of the North, why she didn’t simply tell Dorothy that the ruby slippers had always held the power to return her to Kansas, Glinda replies, “She wouldn’t have believed me; she had to learn it for herself.”

I have now resolved to stop arrogantly imagining that I can help anyone. People will do what people will do, and nothing that I say can (or even, perhaps, should) make any difference. There is no compassionate advice I can offer that will stop anyone from making the same damn-fool choices I’ve made, no wisdom I can share that will keep anyone from creating situations that bring anguish to themselves and others.

What I predict for Kenneth and Tiffany, based on my own experience, is that after their flirtation (or affair, as it may become) implodes, as it inevitably will, Kenneth will walk away genuinely puzzled by Tiffany’s pain (What?—It’s not like she didn’t know I’m married!), and she will look back on him as being a Very Hard Lesson. But I won’t tell them this. Oh, no. I will not tell them this.