Please press play:
I’ve known him for 15 years (and yes, he has a nickname, but I’m unable to share it!) We were high school friends and I had an undeniable crush on him way back when. In the years since school ended, we lost touch. Once we found each other again, we flirted with the possibility of dating but the time was never right. But last year seemed as though we were finally on the same page to see if there was potential. He invited me to my first Toronto FC game…ever. It was a completely last minute invitation and I was going to turn this opportunity yes! We agreed to meet at the gate since he had our tickets. I work relatively close to the stadium so I decided to walk there to waste some time. But first I stopped off at the Winners to make sure I had game-day attire, there was no time to go home and change. I still arrived an hour early so I had a seat by the gate, sent him a text to let him know where I was and
judged watched the passersby.
Two hours later…
The game had begun and I was still sitting at the gate. You may ask yourself (not a Talking Heads reference), “Why didn’t you call him?” That answer would be, “I did.” He was on his way, he said. He would see me soon, he would. I had already been sitting outside long enough to know what’s up. This ain’t my first time at the “stood-up rodeo.” I get up, swipe the dust from the butt of my jeans and pull out the ol’ BlackBerry on my walk to the streetcar. My acrylic nail found the redial button and lo and behold, he answers because he hasn’t died tragically on the way to the stadium.
THE CONVERSATION (paraphrased):
Me: “Hey… so…..?”
Him: “Where are you?”
Me: “I was waiting for you at the gate, where are you?”
Him: “I’m in my seat.”
Now, let me interject right here with a multiple choice question. Do you believe I: A) Set fire to the damn rain? B) Sucker-punched anyone in my general vicinity? C) Turned green and ran amok in torn pants or D) All of the above?
Him: “I’m sitting in my seat.”
Me: “Of course you are.” <insert the Claire Huxtable snake neck here> “Did it occur to you to call or message me since you knew I was waiting here for you? Did you not notice that you had TWO tickets when you entered the stadium and you still had ONE when you sat down in the seat? Did you notice that the seat beside you is empty because the person supposed to fill it is not with you? DON’T ANSWER ANY OF THESE QUESTIONS. Also, don’t speak to me again.” Then I hung up.
I’m sure there are plenty of reasons why he didn’t contact me liiiiiiiiiiiiike his phone died. Oh wait, I was talking to him on it. Ok then, he lost my number. That reason doesn’t work either. Ummmmm, maybe he thought he was with me already and then forgot that he wasn’t (I was once told I was forgettable so, so…..there’s that). Why am I trying to figure out WHY he didn’t contact me when he sent me a text message once I hung up on his rass.* His reason was and I quote: “I didn’t see you.” *single blink* The boy didn’t see me. He didn’t see me outside the gates because he was inside with his ticket. He didn’t see me so he decided not to contact me upon his arrival since he knew I was there from an hour prior. HE DIDN’T BLOODCLOT SEE ME EXPLAINS EVERYTHING.
The moral of this story is……………………… The end.
*Rass – patois for “ass,” “behind” or “bum-bum”