Tuesday, June 05, 2012

Cityboy

So after having come back from Singapore a couple of weeks back, and after lamenting over the miniscule bump on my iPad because of the horrid baggage handling in Changi Airport, I thought I was going to be able to forget Nat, my Mr. Weekend in New England.

Guess what, another guy comes into my life.

I mean, he didn't literally just pop in, he's actually been there, but I wasn't minding him. He's a new employee in the office. He's one of the Finance Managers of my company, so I work hand in hand with him to ensure that the finances of the department assigned to me are in order.

I just realized last Friday evening that his text messages are kinda iffy. What I mean is, we've barely known each other for a couple of months and he sends me the oddest text messages.

For all intensive purposes, let us hide this mystery guy under the code name Cityboy.

Let me transcribe our messages for you:

ME: 
When is she coming back? Tell her I will pick her up just so we could meet regarding this issue.

CITYBOY: 
Hahaha, Tonight balik niya. When are you going to be transferred to a different property?

ME: 
I know, I know, I'm being too makulit about this and there's nothing you wouldn't want more than for me to be transferred to a different property. Unfortunately my papers for the transfer have not yet been transferred yet. The Board of the other property hasn't even received my resume yet. 


CITYBOY:
Sayang. Hehe. No I'm not asking you to leave. I'm just wondering who would take your place handling this area when you're gone. 

The following is a transcript of the odd text exchange we had last Friday:

ME:
When are you available so we can schedule talking about the billing and other things?


CITYBOY:
Tuesday, after our 9AM meeting.


ME: So that's 1:00PM?


CITYBOY:
We can have it right after.



ME: 
Over lunch? We usually finish that meeting at around 12:00-12:30PM. (Me aghast that he doesn't even want to take a lunch break before proceeding to the next meeting.)


CITYBOY:
Depends if we can have lunch, let's ensure to finish this on Tuesday.


ME: (realizing he might have thought I was inviting him for lunch)
Oh, no, no, the question was meant to denote that after the meeting is lunch, and not a lunch invitation. Anyway, let's finalize this on Monday so that we can start having a semblance of a weekend. I'm sure you've had a long day also. I just got to Dusit from the office for a dinner party, and I was held up not by traffic but by work. 


CITYBOY:
Having experienced you drive, good to know your (sic) safe. hehe.


ME: (upset because I was offended by his statement)
Oh that's bad, are you saying I'm a bad driver? I got into a car accident twice in my life, and I wasn't driving both times. So to answer you, I am not a bad driver. Nonetheless, my parents are buying me a new car so you don't worry that I wreck my Pajero. 


CITYBOY:
Haha. O well, at least for me, never been hit nor hit anyone. Im always safe. Except when I'm texting while driving or when sleepy. hahaha.


ME: (Realizing how awkward the conversation is turning.)

I had to attend a meeting with him this morning and I was trying so hard to ignore him. I actually felt so glad when my boss asked me to sit at the other end of the board room table.

Honestly, I could see him stealing glances from me.

We had lunch afterwards, and I was insistent that I needed to sit next to him to discuss the pending matter that we had texted about last Friday.

I was there to discuss work, but my boss was saying that she noticed he was all googly-eyed with me.

We had another meeting afterwards, and when he was about to leave, he was saying goodbye to everyone, and I didn't bid him goodbye. He had another longing look for me.

This guy is supposed to be straight. Allegedly he has a girlfriend. Then why do I feel as if he's hitting on me? And for the record, I don't like him. I'm not all kinikilig when my officemates are making him asar to me. I'm actually natatawa. 

Honestly, with the guys that are coming my way, I feel like I'm stuck in high school. 

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