My Mumbling Thoughts

Yesterday was my last day of work.

Not completely. Hopefully I'll get a call from Simon within the next couple of days saying that he has found me a new job to start. Temp jobs are, well, temporary, and thank goodness this one has come to an end. I was so bored sitting at that stupid desk and trying to find something to hold my interest for five hours every day, while at the same time trying to appear like I was doing work. It was a lot harder than you think, considering that reading three books doesn't look like merging council records in an excel spreadsheet.

For now, I have some time off to chill out, relax and maybe even get some things done round here in the flat. Helen has gone to Poland for two weeks, leaving me to my own devices. I'm getting on okay and have discovered that living by yourself isn't so bad; I frequently walk around with little to no clothing on, pee with the door open and don't have to worry about anyone walking in on me while I sing and dance in the kitchen with my music turned up to full blast. It's kind of liberating.

Before my mini break and cutting loose from the chains of The Council, I had one tiny bit of business to take care before I left -- business that dealt with Aussie boy. I made it my personal business to talk to him, to ask him out, and to get over my fear of talking to boys that I like.

That proved to be slightly more difficult than I had originally imagined. I thought I'd just be able to walk up to him, say good morning, ask about the traffic with the trains and the weather and the whatever else small talk I could think of, and that would be it. But I didn't. Sometimes people give off that "don't talk to me" vibe, and I kind of got that from him. I tried to see if I could make some eye contact, get into his head, perhaps see what he was thinking by simply staring at his face, but he wouldn't even look at me! He'd just walk into the kitchen, get his lunch, and then walk back out leaving me with my leftover dinner and whatever book I was reading that week. No eye contact. No small whisper of a "hey" or anything.

I decided to devise a new plan. I would not be thwarted by a small hiccup in my Trying To Get To Know Him efforts. If at first you don't succeed, try again, right? Right.

So I remembered back when I was in the fourth grade and Valentine's Day would roll around. All of us small tikes would spend an entire afternoon cutting out pink, purple and red hearts from construction paper and Elmer's gluing them onto our small shoe-boxes with a small slit in the top for people to drop their valentine cards inside on that very special day that many adults now hate and have to try to keep from choking on their own bile whenever that depressing day is forcefully shoved in our faces every year.

But before it became a day that made people up their diazepam prescriptions, we used to enjoy it. I know it was always fun for me to pick out which person got which valentine with what message and how many candy hearts I wanted to attach to it. And then closing each individual valentine in their miniature envelopes and writing out your classmate's names. It was fun! Or at least I was somehow tricked into believing it was fun, because I don't do that anymore. I've lost that arts and crafts side of me and have instead replaced it with a cynical old woman.

ANYWAY, I decided to try and possess those childhood feelings once again and write dear Aussie boy a note. A funny note. A quippy note. Something that would be heartfelt and endearing. Not something that would scream sociopath. I wanted to convey my message in a light-hearted way, catch his attention with my words, and show in a few simple lines that I am a funny, interesting and a lovely girl that he would like to get to know. That he would like to call. And ask out. For drinks. And perhaps even food beforehand?

I can't remember what I wrote (I knew I should have made two copies, dammit!), but I let Helen read over it before I wrote the final draft.

"It's pretentious, isn't it? God, do I sound like fucking Lucy -----? Please don't tell me I sound like that poser cunt," I rambled as I paced back and forth in front of Helen as she silently read it.

"No, no. It's good. I like it. But I would suggest that you - "

"Scrap it entirely and start again because I sound like a cunt?" I interrupted.

"No. Take out 'if you're available' and the bit at the end of 'that would make me feel a lot better.' Otherwise I think it's good," she said giving me her final conclusion.

"Really? Take out the 'if you're available'? Because I thought maybe if he already had a girlfriend...."

"Nah, don't worry about that."

With Helen's good words, I re-wrote the final draft, folded it neatly and put it in my desk drawer. I then planned out how many records I had left, did some minor math to figure out which would be my last day, and decided that on Thursday, I would give him my note right before I left at half five, because I knew that he always stayed until six on Thursdays.

God, I do sound like a psychopath.

However, I didn't take into account that perhaps he had a holiday planned and that he would leave at lunchtime on Wednesday and not be back until Monday, meaning that I wouldn't be able to give him my note like I had originally planned, and instead leave the note on his desk. Just like those valentine cards, only without the shoe-boxes, and being in the fourth grade part.

I certainly wasn't going to back out now. I wrote god only knows how many drafts before I finally came to the final one! And I hadn't come this far to pussy out just because he wasn't here to accept my note personally. I mean, I had originally wanted to hand him the note myself so I didn't seem like that big of a douchebag, but he just had to go and throw a wrench into that plan.

So Thursday (yesterday even) arrived and there I was sitting at my desk staring at his empty chair where he would have been to accept my note from my trembling little hands. How was I going to do this? How was I going to casually slip a note on his desk without everyone in the office seeing and wondering what I was doing near his desk. I had no reason to be loitering around because we never talked (not entirely my fault).

I decided to do what I always do in these kind of situations (which pop up more frequently than one may think) and channel one of my idols: Sydney Birstow.

Yes! She would know what to do and how to handle this situation. She is smooth, blasé and smokin' hot. She has been in far tougher situations than this, but a simple note drop-off is a lot harder than most people think. You have to be quick and discreet, and never draw attention to yourself. It is a secret that only you and the Note Receiver knows about, but is blatant in front of everyone else without their knowledge.

I quickly devised a new plan which was a lot simpler in theory than when I actually executed it.

His desk is located right next to our water cooler in the middle of the giant office. I would place the note in my right pocket and act like I was going to refill my water bottle, and while I was screwing the cap back on, I would "accidentally" drop it on the floor near his desk and then while I was slowly getting up, I'd take the note out of my pocket and place it nonchalantly on his keyboard so it would be the first thing he saw when he walked in on Monday morning.

Simple. Easy peasy. I had this in the bag. Sydney Bristow would be proud.

When the Big Moment arrived, though, I found myself start to choke up. Jesus, what if something went wrong? What if I dropped my water bottle all over the floor soaking the carpet and then have all my co-workers rush over to try and help me clean up the mess? Or I tripped and broke something? I am a clumsy person. These things could happen.

I eventually just sucked it up, grabbed my water bottle and started walking (very aware of every step so as to try and prevent myself from tripping on the bloody carpeting). There were only three other employees in the office and I'm sure they found their BBC news article to be far more interesting than me refilling my stupid water bottle.

Of course it still felt like all eyes were on me, only because I knew what was going to happen; I knew what was about to go down; I knew what was about to take place. And I thought, thank god he's not actually here for me to give this to him. I might pass out. He's not even here and I'm having severe anxiety.

I refilled my water bottle as I normally do, but rather than dropping the cap on the floor, I simply paused by his desk while I was walking back and slid it on ever so slightly. It wasn't on his keyboard like I had wanted, but at least the damn note made it on the desk.

I kept my eyes firmly at my feet below me and in my paranoid state could have sworn that somebody whispered, "what did she just put on his desk?" I quietly grabbed my things off of my desk and exited the building for the last time, still without making any eye contact with anybody. As I let the door shut behind me, I smacked the palm of my hand against my forehead and yelped, "d'oh!" I am such a lameass.

For some reason I was walking a lot faster than normal to the bus stop and had to force myself to take it down a notch and cruise the sidewalk. Nobody was after me. I wasn't being chased. I was no longer channeling Sydney Bristow. But I felt like a dumbass. Who does this anymore? Who leaves notes on people's desks? Really, though? Seriously? Who does that? God, what if someone walked by, opened it and read it? What if they saw my words written to him and laughed? Or worse, called me.

I just laughed it off because, hey, I never have to go back there ever again. It was after all, my last day of work. I may or may not hear from him. I'm thinking the chances of him calling are extremely doubtful and I'm not getting my hopes up, especially after I proper worked myself into a state by just putting the damn note on his desk in the first place. But I did do it, which is important and a very big step for a girl who once used to pick out the special chocolates for the boys she really liked in the fourth grade.