After no movement from his side I decided to take the matter into my own peen-deflecting hands.
This is risky for a number of reasons - namely, I repel men, so chances of success are slim.
With this reason in mind, I speculated one thing:
Can a repeller become a propeller?
To this, Anna Lou replied "A leopard print one-sie will never be Guess hotpants, and you my dear are the one-sie".
Working in the service industry, the only encounters I have with Clive are from the other side of a big counter (not likely to change any time soon).
Even though I have come to terms with my Man-Repelling, it doesn't ease the anxiety that comes from putting oneself 'out there'.
When I asked the one excrutiating question to Camden*; "what if I'm rejected?" I felt infinitely better.
Camden: "Who gives a fat fuck? Six billion other people in the world."
Keeping these sentiments close, I decided to step out of my comfort zone and attempt the impossible.
Creativity always scores high in my books - so I wanted to go about this in some sort of innovative, never-before-seen way.
I reached out to a number of friends, who helped me to create a masterful and extraordinary plan.
Together, we came up with a number of ways to convey to him my interest.
Re-enacted below are my favourite options, should you wish to try them out yourself. Do let me know if you do - we can see which is most effective! (It'll be fun!)
one. Give him a random item as a token of my interest - such as a spoon or an avocado.
two. Write him a note with appropriate message, fold into paper plane and fly at his head, then run away.
three. Write him a note, employ skilled origami maker to create work of art with note, then deliver via post to his work.
four. Draw him a picture and deliver to him.
And my favourite of them all, with thanks to my friend Will:
five. Write a song and employ a selection of friends to perform it. Whilst performing, friends will reveal their stomachs to show him a single digit of my phone number. Song lyrics suggested include: "Clive, Clive He's our man, did you know I'm your biggest fan!"
Will's idea left me overcome with
I couldn't dispel an image of myself throwing the note in a frenzied fit at the poor fellow, then running out the doors, arms flailing, sobbing hysterically.
In the end I took the least fear-enducing route; because I'm a pussy.
[See below the note].
Folded into a $10, I handed over my note, then
At the end of it all, having heard not a single peep from our note receiver, I have at least achieved success in a few notable areas:
one. I have successfully fucked up my chances of enjoying the location Clive works at, forever**.
two. I have successfully illustrated what NOT to do.
three. I have successfully convinced Clive that I am a freak.
*More to come on Camden
** Okay, maybe not forever. Definately for at least an entire week.