World's greatest handyman

In my Department at uni, there are heaps of postgrads whom I've never met. And yet I somehow managed to meet Heather almost the minute she began her PhD. I was heading to the common room to make coffee before heading downstairs for a smoke, which is how I spent most of my time at uni before my scholarship ran out. Just before I reached the common room, I saw Heather at the computer room door. She was a cute, new dyke in a drab, brown corridor; of course my interest was immediately piqued.

Before we got swipe-card entry to the computer room, and because there was a shortage of keys, postgrads often had to knock on the computer room door to get others to let them in. I always knocked loudly and persistently, because of the Department’s preponderance of surly, antisocial types who refused to answer the door unless severely disrupted. Since it was her first day, or close to it, Heather was knocking on the door very tentatively.

‘Knock harder,’ I told her. ‘Don’t be shy’. (Ah yes, full of meaning in retrospect, isn't it?)

Heather said, ‘Oh, I’m not being shy. I was just in there a minute ago, and I don’t think there’s anyone in there.’ She was clearly not timid at all.

We got to talking and I offered her a coffee. She accepted, and then I realised I only had one cup. I remembered my officemate had recently stolen a cup from the common room, and it was still in our office.

‘We do have a spare cup,’ I told Heather. ‘I don’t know whose it is. And I’m really sorry, but it’s kind of ugly. It says in big letters: World’s Greatest Handyman.’

Heather laughed, and said, ‘That’s alright. That's perfect. Because I am, in fact, the World’s Greatest Handyman.’

I think I began to fall in love right then and there.