Cut From The Heart: Episode 6 – The Drunk Dial

This following sorry was one of the last stories I decided to cut from the book, I liked how everything played out, but ultimately I just felt because of how things ended it wouldn’t bring much to the overall journey of the book. That however doesn’t mean I won’t always wonder what might have happened if I ever got a chance with the story I like to refer to as:

Bonus Story #6: The Drunk Dialer

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Over the years, I was lucky enough to act in several movies and do some extra work in tv shows and commercials, a lot of those experiences I cover in my book, but I did take a break from it all for a couple of years. In the middle of 2012 I got the chance to do some extra work for a commercial for a well known reality show. It wasn’t anything that would rocket me to the fame moon, but it did give me the chance to work with some old friends and just enjoy being in front of the camera again.

When I’m in set, I always seem to light up and become more myself, the funny charming guy who has no problem flirting with makeup artists, producers and other cast members.

This was no exception.

It was just a one day shoot for me, so I didn’t have much time to really get to know anyone, but there where one or two ladies that caught my eye. The one I chatted to quite a bit, and the other was a very business like lady who was from the creative agency. We said nothing more that hello. But I really couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Thankfully after my scene was filmed I was told I’d be needed for the final scene of the day as well. As the crew setup the shot and waited for the sun to set, I pulled out all my best “cool guy” material. She laughed, but I was never sure if it was at my jokes, or the guy behind me dressed in a gorilla suit.

We wrapped up fairly quickly after that, and before I knew it, she was gone. I casually tried asking some indirect questions to see if anyone knew her name, but alas nobody did. I thought that would be the end of of.

But by now, I think you’ve figured out my stories are never over that quickly…

As luck would have it, a few days later I was told there was a problem with my footage and it would need to be redone. Not only would I get paid for an extra day, but I’d have a chance of seeing the mystery woman again.

I deliberately arrived on set extra early that day, made obvious by everyone saying “we won’t need you for a bit if you’d prefer to come back later”…I’m a patient guy so I just hung out in here green room. And by green, I just mean the table in the cafeteria where the other actors (and their moms) were.

Eventually she showed up. We exchanged pleasantries and that was it. The whole day I kept trying to find a way to engage in conversation, but we never did, she was in work mode the entire time, except this time instead of heels she was wearing pink sneakers. It was after all, a Saturday. But she was still just as beautiful.

After we wrapped I left feeling slightly defeated. But, I never, ever give up.
I hit the internet trying to find any clue as to what her name might be. She wasn’t on any of the call sheets, but the name of the advertising firm was. So I started there, and began searching employee profiles on social networks, going through their friends to see if I recognized any of the pictures (yes, not unlike a witness trying to find a killer at the police station) , news articles, pictures from company events. Anything that would give me a clue to her name.

Now one thing my book will teach you is, I am gooood at this. Even before the days of Google. If someone existed. I would find them.

And I did. Of all things I found a picture of her on a football fan club page from some function, which had her first name listed below.

The rest was easy, and I emailed her some lame email asking how the rest of the shoot went and when we could see the final product. We began emailing back and forth, and I could tell she was very guarded in her replies. Understandably so.

As I worked at melting the ice, I eventually found my way through by talking soccer, as we supported opposing teams. So the traditional football banter began.

As her phone number was listed on her email signature I thought it was fair game and added her to a chat program called Whatsapp.

Come game day we began chatting footy, and eventually I felt comfortable to start flirting. I invited her out to coffee, which she turned down because of her busy schedule. So I took the hint. And invited her out to milkshakes instead. Nobody can resist that.

The more we chatted, the more she revealed. That she had a son, and I she couldn’t understand why I’d want to get involved in all that baggage. Now let me make one think clear, I do not consider children baggage. I never have and never will. They are no baggage, they are a package.

In fact, my attraction is not diminished by race, religion, age, children or even history of mental illness. This is not necessarily a good thing. (Especially the last one), as it’s often made things more complicated. I just happen to be more attracted to women of Indian decent. I always have been, and always will be. That is a preference, not a determining factor.

Anyways, where were we. Oh right, mental illness.
Mmm. No wait, sorry.

We began talking more often, and more casually now, it was hard work but she was eventually even occasionally messaging me first. Not often, but often enough to think maybe she was actually thinking about me. She talked about how her day was and how she wished she didn’t have to go out with clients in the evenings. She would even send me pictures of what she was going to wear for the evening.

We spoke about out jobs, and she mentioned that they were looking for someone and I should apply. I had just started a new job and didn’t plan on leaving so soon, but I thought I could at least see what they had to offer. So I sent it. That was a Friday.

On the Saturday, we spoke a lot on chat. All day. Then in the evening she was feeling depressed after a hard week of work. I did what I would always do and helped build her up. Eventually her responses were becoming more and more illegible. She did like her evening wine, and this night she was clearly enjoying it. We kept flirting via text…and then…at about midnight…

Ring. Ring. (Ok my phone is on silent, so it only vibrates)

Vbbbbbrrrrr. Vbbbbbrrrrr.

She was calling me.

I answered. Her first words were something along the lines of
“What do you want. I don’t understand why a guy like you would want to get involved with a woman with a kid who has no time for her own life”

I told her not to overthink things (rich coming from me!) and to just enjoy what was going on.
She told me I was so wise and always said the right thing. I am. And, I do.

This call went in for about and hour, between the slurring of the words and the clanging of the glass against the phone, I only actually understood about 25% of the conversation.

Then she said, she was going to take a shower but expected me to call her back in 10min.
I said ok cool, and we ended the call.

Then, I realized I didn’t have airtime in my phone. And I happened to be broken than broke that night so couldn’t even top up.

It was a horrible feeling. And I message her some lame excuse about how my phone was giving trouble and we’d have to chat in the morning.

On the Sunday morning I got an email from her.
Thanking me for applying for the position within the company, but unfortunately they won’t be considering my application at this time.

A few weeks went by before we chatting again, it was awkward and whatever magic was there before, was gone. I tried reigniting it, but she didn’t give me an inch. Even casual conversation wasn’t all that casual.

She sent me some message about how some big black guy was harassing her at the office and her brother was there to calm her down. Then just like that, she changed her phone number.

About a year later we chatted on Facebook, she was concerned about some messages I had been posting (more on that in my book), and suggested I stop as it could have an impact on my professional career in the future. Then she asked me if I needed some professional help. Then she deleted me.

And that’s how it ended. Much ado about nothing in the end, but that nothing was hard work. Perhaps if she just said yes to a milkshake, we would of seen if there was really anything there.

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