The 3rd A.D. is Not My Boyfriend

I crush easily.

No, Natasha Bedingfield is not about to talk over the top of a perfectly fine Chicane number, I mean I develop crushes the way some people break out, or hiccup, or blink their eyes. I do it lots.

Usually, all it takes is a couple of baby blues, an in-joke, and a cutesy nickname thrown my way, and I am PUTTY.

A few weeks ago, it happened to me on the set of a cop show. Sometimes, I am an extra. Let’s be clear, I’m not one of those I-hope-the-director-notices-my-awesome-mime-talking-and-gives-me-a-Logie extras. I’m more your garden-variety please-don’t-talk-to-me-I’m-cool-to-hang-here-by-the-tea-trolley-and-eat-Anzacs type of extra. I enjoy turning my phone off for a random eight hours every now and then, tuning out my life, earning some pocket money, and watching the people in the parkas make the TV.

Occasionally, it’s mind-blowingly awesome, a-la being in an end-of-the-world looting scene in a Hollywood disaster movie (a story for another time. We’ll call that post “Nicolas Cage’s stunt double is N.M.B.”) but more often than not, it's dull.

I turned up expecting to develop an instant crush on one of the main cop-actors, but I stood next to them all in the breakfast queue while I got porridge, and the porridge bowl didn’t land upside down on the ground, so I knew I was safely crush-free at that point.

I made my way out to the shooting location, (a dodgy suburban street - how deliciously Aussie cop-show!) with the last instalment of the teenage vampire fiction and planned for a day of bloody teen angst, broken up by bits of standing, and some staring at pretend crime.

“Hi, I’m Simon Baker Denny. I’m the Third A.D.”
Said a giant pair of blue eyes.

Oh no.

Half an hour in to a 10-hour shift before a crush hit. Personal best!

Now, this guy’s name ISN’T actually “Simon Baker Denny”, but he sure did look like him.
I know, I know, Sime’s dropped the “Denny” now, but he’s kidding himself if he thinks we’ve forgotten about it. TV Hits told me that was his triple-barrel name in 1992, and I’m going to have to stand by my mag on that one.

I DON’T actually have a thing for the Mentalist; this fair, blue-eyed, film-set guy resembled him a bit, but he was way hotter. And I'm disguising his name because I don’t want to embarrass myself in case he, I dunno, somehow finds this obscure, anonymous blog.

As the third assistant director, Simon Baker Denny’s job was to make sure all the actors and people-props like me were ready on the set. And the crush hadn’t fully set in until the moment he tapped me gently on the knee to get my attention, and pointed out a folding chair for me to sit on so I wouldn’t have to kneel in the gutter.

CHIVALRY IS NOT DEAD!

(I proceeded to sit in the chair only to topple backwards out of it. Retarded crush manoeuvre= check!)

Signs it was a mutual crush:
We had humorous banter involving polystyrene cups at the tea trolley. I can’t remember what it was, but at the time, love.

Twice, he referred to me as “My Dear”.
Swoon.

At the lunch queue, he tried to find me with his eyes to make sure I was getting something to eat.
Sigh.

All day I was brainstorming possible parting lines. I wanted to leave it on the most amazing conversational note so that Simon Baker Denny would be compelled to scan the call sheet after my departure, find my number and call me to profess things.

This was what I came up with:
“Simon Baker Denny, it’s been a pleasure”.

“See ya!”

The 3rd A.D. is Not My Boyfriend.

In the old days, you could sit with a crush for days, months, years on end - and brew a real heart-rending saga with the thing. Not anymore.

A couple of clicks through to a friend-of-a-friend‘s Facebook and three words put a quick stop to that.

“In a relationship.”

I miss the past.