The girl I like didn’t know I existed, and I was starting to get desperate.
It wasn’t because I was unattractive or I lacked manly charm; she was simply too focused on her work. Picture this: cardigan, heels, hair in a severe bun. Oh yeah, that kind of girl doesn’t spend her free time noticing guys. (Does she even have free time?)
I had to change that.
I asked my brothers for advice, and applied it the very next day, even if I wasn’t sure it was going to work. Armed with several pieces of papers, I purposely bumped into her (making sure she also had her stack of papers) and not-so-obviously threw my papers into the air.
“I’m so sorry! You’d think a big hulk of a guy named Bob wouldn’t be so clumsy.” See what I did there?
I proceeded to help her, being the gallant gentleman that I was. I also made sure to slip one of my papers (the one with my name and phone number on the letterhead) into her pile.
“Thank you,” she said, looking at me in the eye. Finally!
“Don’t mention it. Are you sure you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you?”
She smiled. “I’ve been through worse.”
She never called.
But she came to my cube that afternoon, returned my paper, and demanded coffee as recompense for her hurting foot and for making her miss her next meeting.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.