Confessions of an Ugly Girl (3 page)

“I don’t think so,” I told her.

And then Donna sighed, like she couldn’t believe how difficult I was being. But seriously, was she
looking
at this guy? A guy that nice-looking would never go out with me in a quadrillion years. He wouldn’t go out with me in a
googol
years. There was no point in wasting another second thinking about it.

(In case you’re wondering, the proper spelling of the number one with a million zeros after it is “googol,” not “google.” Look it up on Google if you don’t believe me.)

July 16:

The Cute Computer Guy Sam saga came to an interesting conclusion today.

At 4:15, just as I was finishing up for the day, my computer screen went black again and then the stupid hieroglyphics showed up. Remembering what happened last time, I shut it off, waited the requisite two minutes, then turned it back on again.

The hieroglyphics were still there.

I tried one more time, this time unplugging the computer entirely. I really didn’t feel like getting my computer serviced right now, but it looked like it wasn’t fixing itself. And I couldn’t leave with it in this condition, possibly eating up all my data tonight while I sleep.  

The good news was that it gave me an excuse to try to reach Sam again. Despite the fact that he appeared to be clearly out of my league, I had been thinking about him quite a bit. At night. In my bedroom. Alone. Are you getting the idea here?

(I’m sorry, he just looked really cute in that picture.)

Anyway, I called the Computer Helpdesk, recognizing that I had a one in three chance of reaching Sam, a one in three chance of reaching a total asshole, and a one in three chance of reaching a guy who didn’t speak English. So I was really psyched when I recognized his voice on the other line. And I was even more psyched when it turned out that he recognized me too.

“Millie, right?” he said.

“Yep,” I said. “And you’re Sam. Spelled phonetically.”

He laughed that sexy laugh. Man, I wish I were a cute girl so I could date cute guys. “Right. Glad you remember me. What’s the problem, Millie?”

I explained to him about the hieroglyphics, how I had tried turning it on and off in every way possible, and it just wasn’t working. How I even got down on my hands and knees and unplugged it, then plugged it back in.

“Down on your hands and knees, huh?” Sam said. “Maybe I better come take a look.”

“Can’t you just tell me what to do on the phone?” I didn’t really want to meet Sam. I had a bad feeling that the second he came down here, our little phone flirtation would come to a disappointing end.

“No, scary hieroglyphics mean I’ve got to take a look,” Sam said.

We hung up and I noticed my heart was racing. I felt so stupid for being as nervous as I was. Over a
guy
. My palms were actually sweaty.

“What’s wrong?” Donna asked, because I was just standing there hyperventilating.

“You know that computer guy Sam?” I said, if we hadn’t just been staring at his photo for like half an hour yesterday.

Donna grinned. “You mean the cute one?”

“Right,” I mumbled. “Well anyway, he’s coming down here to help me with my computer.”

And now I was
blushing
, for God’s sake. I hate the fact that my face turns bright red whenever I’m embarrassed. I don’t like people having a window into my thoughts.

“You’re blushing!” Donna pointed out gleefully. She cocked her head at me. “Wow. You really like him.”

“I haven’t even met him,” I pointed out.

“You haven’t even
met
him and already you’re totally into him!” Donna squealed. I think in her head, she was already planning out the wedding invitations on cream-colored paper. I was beginning to feel sorry I said anything about Sam in the first place. This definitely wasn’t doing anything to help with my sweaty palms.

Anyway. Get ready for the punchline.

After I spent five minutes pacing across my cubicle, Sam showed up. And he looked just like in the photo, except, get this, he was in a
wheelchair
. I mean, what the hell? And it wasn’t like he was in a wheelchair because he had a sprained ankle or something. That was really obvious. There was something actually
wrong
with the guy.

“Millie?” he asked when he saw me.

“Yeah,” I managed. “You must be Sam.”

Some of my nervousness had melted away when I saw him, but it was replaced with an awkwardness that wasn’t really that much better. It didn’t make matters better when I held out my hand for him to shake, and I realized that his fingers were all curled up. (In my defense, he had been using his hands to turn the wheels on his chair, so there was no reason to think there was anything wrong with them.) His hand slid against mine, but it didn’t really move. You’d better believe I yanked my hand back as fast as I could. 

Sam looked like he was going to say something else, but instead he just turned to my computer. It was getting close to five and I assumed he wanted to leave as much as I did. “Wow, you weren’t kidding about the hieroglyphics,” he said.

He tried a few different things, pecking at the keyboard with his claw hands. I wasn’t sure if I should watch him or not. Was it rude to watch? Was that staring? What was
wrong
with him? Honestly, I’m embarrassed just thinking about it now. The best part was that Donna hung around to see him. I could see her eyes bug out.

We were there about twenty minutes and I was looking at my watch a lot. Sam kept saying things like “hmm” and “that’s not good” and I was thinking this wasn’t going to wrap up any time soon. Finally, a pager went off on Sam’s belt.

“Millie,” he said, “I’m really sorry but I’m going to have to come back tomorrow.”

I was relieved. “Okay,” I said.

“I can’t make it till ten.”

Ten o’clock
? Was he
kidding
me? I can’t do anything without my computer. I’ve got a report due for a big company that recently acquired a life insurance firm. I don’t have an hour to spend twiddling my thumbs

Sam noticed the expression on my face. “Okay, how about 9:30?” he said.

Okay, 9:30 wouldn’t be too terrible. “Deal,” I agreed.

Now Sam’s coming back tomorrow at 9:30 and I’m going to finally get my damned computer working again. I hope.

Donna and I got drinks after work and we laughed about how we’d both been ogling Sam. It’s funny the way things work out. Oh well.

July 17:

I got to work on the late side this morning because I knew Sam wasn’t showing up till 9:30 and I was completely stuck without my computer. I arrived at a quarter past nine, but Sam was nowhere in sight, so I got about three cups of coffee to kill time. Because I’m an idiot, it didn’t occur to me that all that coffee would make me have to pee like crazy, but I was afraid to move because I didn’t want to miss Sam.

Thank God, he arrived at 9:25. He looked out of breath and I felt bad for making him race over here. For all I knew, he had a heart condition. Obviously, there was
something
seriously wrong with him.

“I came as fast as I could,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said.

I noticed he had something on his lap and it turned out to be a little toolbox. I had a sinking feeling. “What are you going to do with those?”

“Three guesses.” Sam started unscrewing the cover of my CPU.

I watched him for a few minutes. The screwdriver he was using wasn’t the plain and simple kind I have tucked away in my drawer at home in case of a screw emergency. It was some sort of power screwdriver that seemed to rotate the screw automatically, which I guess he used because he didn’t have full use of his hands. It still seemed like it wasn’t so easy for him. I felt guilty that I was just watching him struggle when I had two perfectly good hands.

“Do you need any help?” I asked.

“Sure,” Sam said. He handed me a regular screwdriver, which he somehow wedged in his fingers. “I could always use a little helper.”

Okay, so now the embarrassing part: Sam had the whole damn thing unscrewed before I even got my one screw out. I have no idea how I managed to be so incompetent or how he managed to be so fast. So much for my plan of being a ringer in the Special Olympics.

“So I’m guessing woodshop wasn’t your specialty in school,” Sam commented, grinning at me.

“I chose to focus on more
important
things in school,” I replied. But I was smiling too. Even though I still felt awkward, I was getting used to the fact that Sam was in a wheelchair. He seemed like a pretty nice guy, and I didn’t mind him flirting with me, even though it obviously didn’t mean anything.

As Sam opened the panel on my hard drive, a puff of dust blew out. I sneezed loudly, and thanks to my overfilled bladder, I nearly peed in my pants. “Do you mind if I run to the bathroom?” I asked, desperately hoping he wouldn’t mind.

“Permission for bathroom break
granted
,” Sam said with a wink.   

The situation was pretty dire right now, but I managed to not break into a jog until I was out of the room. My bladder was so full that emptying it was practically orgasmic (you know what I’m talking about). I felt a lot better after that, but I wasn’t in any hurry to race back, so I lingered by the mirror.

I can’t imagine what it’s like to be a pretty girl looking at yourself in the mirror. It must be nice. Whenever I look in the mirror, it’s just damage control like picking dandruff out of my hair or making sure there isn’t spinach in my teeth. I never have good hair days. I only have “not awful” hair days.

I don’t like to stare too long at the mirror in a public place though. I don’t want someone to come in and God forbid, think I’m admiring myself. I don’t want people to think I’m deluded enough to believe I look good. Usually when I’m in a public place, I take a quick glance in the mirror to make sure there isn’t toilet paper stuck to my face or something, then head out. The good thing about ugly girls is that we are super fast in the bathroom.

I do wash my hands though. I swear. I read in a magazine that 20% of women don’t wash their hands when they use the bathroom. Ever since then, I haven’t been too keen on shaking hands with people.

When I came back to my desk from the bathroom, I nearly had a heart attack: my computer was in bits all over my desk. I almost cried.

“Don’t freak out, Millie,” Sam said. “I just replaced a part and I’m putting it back together. I promise.”

He made good on his promise. He was pretty fast too. As he did it, he explained to me what he was doing and it seemed like he really knew his stuff. Not that I had any idea what he was talking about—for all I knew, he was making it all up. But I actually think he did know what he was talking about, because when he finished, he pressed the power button, and not only did the machine turn on, the hieroglyphics were gone. “You’re my hero,” I said. Then I blushed.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” Sam said. It was almost eleven by now. I was so behind on my work, it wasn’t even funny. “Let me make it up to you. I’ll take you out to lunch.”

I almost had a second heart attack. Was Sam actually
asking me out
? I thought that was completely off the table.

He must have seen the look on my face because he added, “A platonic lunch.”

“I really shouldn’t,” I said. “I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on.”

(That was true. But it wasn’t entirely why I said no.)

“Maybe tomorrow then?”

I felt my face getting really red. I didn’t get this at all. I had never been pressured like this to have lunch with a guy. I didn’t even understand how he had the courage to be so persistent considering... well, you know. But then again, he said it was platonic. He was new to the company and probably just looking for friends.

“I’m really way behind,” I said.

“Well, maybe someday you’ll get caught up,” Sam said. “My offer stays open. You know where to find me.”

I was really relieved when he finally left, but I also felt a teeny bit empty. I really just don’t get asked out… like, almost ever. It’s really rare. I was flattered. He made me feel like I was actually attractive, at least until he insisted his invitation was platonic.

“I can’t believe you turned him down,” Donna said. She raced over to my cubicle the second Sam was gone. Apparently, she’d heard every word. “He really liked you.”

“What?” The way she was looking at him, I figured she didn’t see him as potential boyfriend material either. “He didn’t ask me out anyway. He said it was platonic.”

“Yeah, except when you were gone, he asked me if you had a boyfriend.”

“What did you say?”

Donna raised her eyebrows at me. “Do you have a boyfriend I don’t know about? I told him no.”

So it wasn’t about him wanting to make friends. He actually wanted to go out with me. I felt my face getting hot all over again.