So, I have a bookclub meeting today at the Borders, and I walk away to try to talk to the manager (who is rather like the wizard of Oz in that he's behind this curtain and no one can talk to him except through intermediate go-betweens)...
Oh yeah, there's this guy who keeps eyeing me. that's sorta important.
anyways I come back to my chair and there's a post-it on my stuff with a phone number on it. So, I faked like I didn't know what it was... I mean, really... Who knows if it was him?
And one of the people I was with in the group said they found it on the ground and put it on my stuff. So... it wasn't him after all. So I tried to find out who it belonged to, and I asked the sound guy for this jazz thing that was setting up and he said, "nope, but I'll take care of it" and crumpled it up & threw it away.
So, Kevin, if that was you...
I did that on purpose.
b, feeling like a cold-hearted bitch