I bet a lot of you work at large companies where you make friends, or acquaintances really, with people in other departments/branches/etc. This is all good and well, as Tom Rath explained to me a couple of years back.

Tom says that having friends at work makes you a better employee, among other things, because you are happy at work. He reasons that, who wouldn't want to work with their friends?

Tom, you have a point. But I have a quandary.

I was out to lunch with a client recently when I ran into someone I had worked with at Local General Hospital. We shared small talk while waiting for our separate tables, as our lives have crossed paths, interestingly enough, since my departure at LGH.

My clients, being inquisitive (remember: I am a professional question answerer-people feel the need to ask me lots of questions!), asked me how I knew aforementioned girl in white lab coat. Offhandedly I answered, "Oh, we were co-workers at LGH. I worked there (professionally answering questions) and we hadn't seen each other in awhile."

This misled my lovely clients (they assumed, we all know what that does) to believe that I had once been a white coat. Note the little 'w' and little 'c'. Big 'W's and big 'C's are reserved for the MDs. What I really wanted to answer, when they asked how we knew each other - was that we were faux-workers. You know, fake co-workers. We worked at the same large, large company and occasionally ran into each other at the company dining hall, but really didn't actually work together. She couldn't give me a reference. She knew I was a consistent employee only because we were the only two in the organic food line at work. Every. Day.

And here I am again, in the same precarious situation. Apparently, I was offered up as a sacrificial reference for a former faux-worker. Upon receiving the unexpected, yet obligatory on the interviewees part, phone call I stalled.

How was I supposed to tell this guy that I wasn't as close to the interviewer as she thought we apparently were? I had flashbacks to making the invitation list to my wedding. Did Mr. & Mrs. Rhinoplasty realize that I didn't think nearly as much of them as they apparently (heard through the grapevine, mind you) thought of the soon-to-bes?

All I could think to tell him was that she threw killer Pampered Chef parties and drove a Lexus and was generally known to suffer from Big Hair syndrome. On occasion, she was able to get her boss to return my phone calls, but I wasn't privy to the earth-shattering secretarial skills her resume proudly boasted. To make matters worse, I wasn't even aware she was looking. Or unemployed. I was half tempted to put the guy on hold and dial her extension as a "pinch me" to prove that I wasn't a part of some time warp experiment.

Turns out, he had a list of textbook questions to ask where I ranked her "flexibility" and "sticktuitiveness" on a scale of 1 to 5. Praise HR for senseless interview practices we have all come to know and love.

Tomorrow morning, at the coffee pot, make sure and say hello to your friendly faux-workers.