What the pretty girl did with my business card

Posted on September 14, 2005


"Did that guy REALLY think I would call or email him?" she says to her friend. "What do you think I should do with this?"

"There are a lot of things you could do with a business card," the friend says, grabbing the card from her left hand and holding it up to the light. "You could turn it into a coaster. You could make an airplane out of it, although it would be a tiny airplane. You could even write a something on the back of it."

The friend pulls out an ink pen and tries desperately to scribble "FREAK" on the back of it.

"That didn't work," the friend says. "The gloss on this thing is thick."

"Yeah, it is a pretty card," the girl says, retaining possession of the multi-colored rectangle. "That's why I'm reluctant to just toss it. I mean, the guy has to be insane. I see him every day for what, three months, and he waits until now to give it to me?"

"Maybe he was just waiting for the right moment," the friend says. "Does it really matter when he gave it to you?"

"Not really," she says. "Although if it were months ago, it would have been easier to trash."

"How so?"

"Well, if I wanted to appreciate the beauty of the card, I could have always asked for another. Better yet, he may have given me another, wondering why I never contacted him. But that won't happen now because I probably won't ever see him again."

"If that's the case, we should do something special with it."

"What did you have in mind?"

The friend nods, and the girl takes her cue. She opens up the top drawer of her desk and shuffles around seemingly everything inside of it. She finally comes upon a pair of scissors with orange handles.

"Do you really think I should do this?" the girl reluctantly asks.

"It will be fun!" the friend proclaims, even though the girl hasn't budged. Finally, the friend swipes the scissors and the card out of the girl's hands and starts cutting away.

"If you think what you had before was colorful, wait until you lay your eyes on this!" the friend says, eyes gleaming at the number of pieces being created by criss-crossing the cuts.

"What ... what have you done?" the girl says as her friend sets the scissors on the table.

The friend puts all the pieces in his clasped right hand, then covers it with his left. The friend shakes his hands like dice, motioning faster and faster. Finally, with the girl looking on, the friend opens his hands at the apex of his shake, launching the tiny business card pieces in the air.

"Confetti!" the friend says.


"Here's me and my sister," the girl says, flipping through the photos inside her wallet. "Here's one of me and my grandparents. Here's ... let's skip this one."

"Wait, that didn't look like a picture," the friend says, tapping the girl on the wrist. "Go back, I want to see what that was."

"No, you really don't," the girl says, trying to proceed with the slide show. The friend persists and with mild force, makes the girl flip back a sleeve to reveal a business card.

"You have a business card in your wallet photos?" the friend says, perplexed. The friend reads the name and information on the card. "Do I know this guy?"

"No, you don't," she says. "And neither do I."

"Wait a minute," the friend says. "You have a business card of someone you don't even know with pictures of your family?"

"Yes, it's crazy. The thing is, I don't know him, but I always wanted to know him. You see, I saw him every day for just a few months. But that time seemed like an eternity because every day, I just waited for him to approach me and say something to me. I was too shy to talk to him, and finally, just before I left, he gave me this."

"What did he say?"

"Honestly, I don't remember. I was so nervous that he actually spoke to me that I couldn't even tell you what he said. I still remember it, almost as if it were slow motion."

"So did you email or call him?"

"Oh no, I couldn't do that. What would I say? I don't even know why he gave it to me."

The girl and her friend just stared at the card and its beautiful design, sighing.

"Come on, you should email him," the friend says, nudging the girl to the left, where her computer sits. "It can't hurt anything, can it?"

"No, the time has passed," the girl says. "So I keep this as a reminder of him ... whoever he is."

The girl opens her right hand and covers her mouth for an instant. Then she blows a kiss toward the business card and gathers her strength to turn to the next set of photos.

The friend, not understanding if the girl is completely wacko, stays mum and listens to the descriptions of the remaining photos.


"Am I forgetting something?" the girl says, looking anxiously through her purse. Just then, she remembered her keys were on the kitchen table. Tucked deep in the purse lies the business card, which has gained a few tears and a general worn look since being buried under credit cards, spare toiletries, chapstick and loose change. The girl's recollection of receiving a business card days ago has quickly diminished, and it will undoubtedly be thrown out the next time an extensive cleaning is needed.

I'm going with Option C.