This Shit Is Bananas

This is fucking insane.

I got a call this morning from work that they wanted me to work this afternoon because one of the girls called in sick. I agreed because it's a public holiday which means I get like a billion dollars per hour. As you know, I'm of the cheap variety so this monetary incentive appealed to me greatly.

I went into work at 12pm. It was all cool. I ended up seeing J-Dawg (which is this hip name I made for one of the tech girls who is so insanely quiet most of the time) who I rarely see because I only ever work one day a week.

EXCEPT FOR TODAY. I feel like God just got out his Junaberry Chess Board of Life and decided to yank out some jank as hell move for fun.

The day is going smoothly. There's no R to distract/arouse me. But that's okay; I said it's probably good for me to take a break from him before. It was pretty chill because no one really needs stationery after February.

I get a 15 minute break around 3pm and go to get my phone from my bag (plus muesli bar because I live for that shit). I take my bag out... Underneath...

Holy fuck. I think I had this fantasy about 500 times in my head. I was living a dream inside my head. It went something like this:

The girl goes to her locker. It's mid-afternoon. She has been staring across the shop at R for several hours. To the point that her heart hurts, her head hurts and she's accidentally ignored seven customers. 

She opens her locker, fingers hungrily searching for the food she knows she has stored in her bag... 

Hold on. Slid into the corner of the locker... a white envelope. She takes it out. Her name written on the front. Her breath catches in her throat. She puts the envelope in her bag and brings it with her to the bathroom.

She needs privacy. Doesn't know if she'll laugh, scream or cry. The heart palpitations are getting worse. Is she having a panic attack? She doesn't know.

There, safely locked in a cubicle, away from prying eyes, away from a cold and cruel world, she opens the envelope.

"Hey," it says. "I just met you and this is crazy. But here's my number (0000 000 000) so call me maybe. R."

Holy fuck.

Holy fuck, guys. Holy fuck.

It fucking happened. A lot like the above fantasy except it wasn't an envelope; it was a bit of paper. And it wasn't lyrics from one of my favourite songs of all time.

It said:

I like you. Let's talk. R.

My heart fucking stopped. It's still not beating. I've been smiling for so many hours that my cheeks hurt. Thank God he wasn't working today because I don't know if I could have handled that. I don't know what I would have done.

At least now I have time to make up a new fantasy in my head that involves me sidling up to him at some point and saying something super slick and sexy.

I think this is the best day of my life thus far.

WHAT DO I SAY TO HIM WHEN I SEE HIM NEXT?

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J