I’ve never been one for relationships. Okay, that may have been because I’ve never had the opportunity for them. The only boys I knew are fictional and / or already dating. So Valentine’s Day wasn’t a big deal for me. It was another day I could make fun of couples being cheesy or way too much in love – but all that was before I started dating someone myself. And so, in honour of it being Valentine’s Week and all that jazz, I’m going to share the very hilarious (in retrospect, of course) tale of how my better half and I met for the first time.
The day began earlier than usual, because today was different. After four months of blood, sweat and tears, the fest was finally here. People hadn’t slept the night before – there were stages being built, banners being hung, final touches being put on the biggest thing we’d done in our lives. And amidst it all I stood, watching all the seniors move around and bark last-minute orders at their volunteers. I was a mere volunteer back then, part of a department with far too many other people for me to be anything significant. And I stood there, watching the quad being prepped for the big day and wondered how something so important could be done in a few hours.
I had been assigned to a particular event, the details of which evade me now. But I remember standing guard outside that room, waiting for the participants to show up, wondering if I would have to execute the ‘polite-but-stern’ phone call routine my senior had taught me to do when the participant would be late or beg for extra time or try to mess with the rules. I was prepared for anything and everything the participating colleges would throw my way, armed with my file of papers and a perfectly good pen, ready to crush this event (in the good way).
And then he turned up.
With nothing more than a huge smirk on his face, he sauntered into the classroom where the event was to be held, only to be greeted by my frown. “Unless you’re a participant or a CL or ACL, you aren’t allowed to be here.” I told him curtly, his grin unnerving me more than the spider crawling up the wall to my left.
He gave me another cocky smile and then said, “I am the CL of X college (hello, some privacy please) and I’m only here to inform you that my contingent will be a little late for this event. That’s all.” I grumbled in annoyance, ready to state the rules about lateness or absence and disqualification but before I could, he just sat down on the desk, hopping up like a monkey. He wouldn’t go away when I asked him to, instead he kept asking me inane questions about my department, what subjects I studied despite my continuous repetitions of ‘I’m not allowed to discuss that’. I wasn’t allowed the room, nor did I have a way of contacting my senior to come deal with this buffoon, so I endured on – distracting myself from his incessant chatter with score-sheets and watching the aforementioned spider spin a web.
He wasn’t deterred and even through my annoyance, I was impressed by his nonchalant behaviour and his infectious grin. Clearly, he was shirking a lot of his duties but he kept boasting about how his ACLs had things under control. Finally though, another volunteer came to relieve me seeing as the other participants had arrived and it was time for me to switch to another duty.
He parted ways a little before my replacement turned up and somewhere I was sorry to see him go, he had given me some company as I waited all by myself in that empty classroom.
I did some recon on him later in the day, there was still tomorrow to deal with of course. And I couldn’t get distracted by him again. Turns out, he actually was the CL (I thought he may have been bluffing). And I was prepared should he show himself again and try to talk my ear off.
He did show up the next day, but only after I’d called him – hold on to your hats, I had to call him for event purposes. His contingent hadn’t shown up and I needed to call the CLs to get an update on their status. Here’s how the call went:
“Hello, this is (my name) from X department from (my college’s fest). We just wanted to check in and know if your college contingent would be showing up for X event happening today.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m on my way, there’s a lot of crowd here today. You guys-” It was at this point that I saw him, talking on the phone to me, maybe thirty feet away, standing next to a pillar, without a care in the world. “-really need to have better crowd control.” He kept speaking, but I was seeing red by this time.
“I see, maybe you’d be able to make your way quicker if you actually moved and stopped leaning against a pillar, but this is just a personal opinion.” I mumbled and saw his head whip left and right as he looked around trying to pinpoint where I was. By then of course, I’d gritted my teeth and walked back into the classroom where the network was non-existent at best.
There were a few more incidents of course, but the last notable one was when he decided to take an impromptu trip to the washroom just before his contingent was to perform. Granted, the performance of the college before them had just started and they had about fifteen minutes, he didn’t have to go to the opposite end of the campus. Which meant I had to follow him – I stood like a guard waiting for him outside the Boys Washroom, wondering if I should’ve chosen the other department- one where I didn’t have to grit my teeth and smile and nod along everything the visiting colleges said and be oh-so polite.
Long story short, he was an idiot (he prefers charming and flirty) and I was just doing my job. Remember that time I’d called him to ask about his contingent? The sneaky little git (I say this with the most affection I can muster) used that to contact me and ask me out for coffee and maybe a bookstore browsing session, I couldn’t refuse the latter.
And so his college won a bunch of events at our college fest, including the one I was working for, and we both started seeing each other, except now we both chatter on and on, it’s always been my speciality too, to talk someone’s ear off.
So, that’s it. That’s our love story. We’ll probably be watching Deadpool to celebrate this Sunday, what are your plans?
THIS POST IS FICTIONALISED AND I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH.
Unfortunately, the only type of boyfriend I have is fictional. This story is a very, very distorted version of a jumble of stories my friends have told me and something I’ve made up – perks of being a writer.
Incidentally, this day marks three whole years of this blog. Can you believe it? I was nearly sixteen and single when I started this blog and as I write this, I’m nearly nineteen and still very much single. So clearly, other than my book collection, nothing else has really changed.
Until next time,