Chance meetings can be serendipitous; ending in love scenes which wouldn’t be out of place in a Richard Curtis movie.
Last week I had one of my own, that, whilst not yet ended, I can tell you would be more suited to a scene out of Australia’s Funniest Home Videos. Without the ‘boom tish’.
We met out in a bar. I was sober (with the flu, not out of choice) and chaperoning a best friend on her birthday. For some reason I had resisted the temptation to smoke bomb into the night at every turn, and we all ended up at a local dive bar, devouring tacos late into the night. As I was walking (nay: stumbling in a Sudafed- induced haze) back from the bar, I was approached by a young man who I instantly recognised as working in my building. Awkward eye contact, followed by a hasty introduction to him and his friends before I returned to my table was the extent of the effort I could make in my feverish stupor.
It wasn’t until I went to the bathroom that he approached my friends, managed to secure my mobile phone number and started a very interesting and very public texting session. I was doing my best to be both witty and cute whilst snot dribbled to my top lip and I was doing my best just to stay upright. After a few cheeky exchanges, we decided to unite our tables. His friends met my friends to mixed levels of success until we disappeared into the night.
Over the next few days we harmlessly texted back and forth, mostly sticking to safe topics including other inhabitants of the buildings lifts and his job interview. Despite him knowing where and when I work, there was no invitation to lunch or even coffee.
In a moment if weakness I whinged to my secretary about his lack of ability to set up another meeting. In a moment of stupidity we decided to google him, little did I know my not so private Linked In profile would automatically log in, allowing him to easily see I had stalked him. Without knowing his last name. Nor was I aware that my secretary had also gone back to her desk to show his portrait to a number of colleagues so that they too, could be on the look out for cute elevator boy.
It wasn’t until my phone dinged minutes later from said elevator boy, asking why me and my colleagues were all checking out his credentials that the penny dropped. Mortified would be an understatement. The boy thing to do was to laugh hysterically for half an hour, then cheekily respond:
Luckily for me he saw the funny side.
A couple of days later I got a knock on my office door from a colleague, passing on a greeting from a tall handsome man she’d met in the lift. I guess he’d decided to meet me on my level: cute but creepy.