Marisa gets back to me in regard to my arrival at the restaurant. The lunch is set for 1pm.
Let the madness unfold here…
Me: I’m at the restaurant and our reservation is for 1pm
Her: Hey Ok, I’m gonna be there.
Me: Ok. (smiley face and thumbs up)
Her: Hold on.
Her: Hey where is actually. the hotel.
(Hotel? What? Why doesn’t she know where the place is? I’ve given her the name and address three times.)
Me: 18th and JFK Blvd. Right on the corner.
Her: the restaurant
Does she have a flip phone?
Me: Where are you? Yes. (Name of restaurant)
Her: Ok. Sorry. Walking. Cause. I’m.
Me: Ok. Where are you now? I’ve been waiting here for half an hour.
Her: I was lost. I’m sorry. I’m walking now.
Me: Where are you now? Ok
Her: I went the other side.
On the other side? The other side of what? The city? The Earth? Has she died and gone over to the other side and is texting me from beyond the grave?
It’s been forty-five minutes now. I have asked her three times now what her present location is, and she hasn’t responded with and answer. Where the fuck is she? I can walk from Penn’s Landing back to Rittenhouse in forty minutes.
Me: Ok. Where are you now?
Her: Near by
(Nearby what???? I hate lateness. As I said above, that was drilled into my soul by my father.)
Me: Near what? What is the cross street of your present location? ???
(I hear nothing but the familiar roar of frustrating crickets.)
I should fucking leave. On top of all, of this there are two assholes that have been sitting at MY table for over an hour and a half. They finished eating a half hour ago and are just dawdling.
I hate everyone now.
Except Mary. She doesn’t know this is a date with a young Filipino delish that looks like it’s not happening.
I haven’t heard anything from her. It’s been an hour that I’ve been waiting and texting this idiot.
Marisa stood me up.
It’s now nearly 2pm and I have been here for over an hour. I tell Mary I’m just going to leave and tell Marisa I have other appointments and I can’t wait around anymore. Mary agrees. I tell her I am very busy, but I miss her and want to see her. She is her usual self and feels the same. The thing with Mary is; she has never been married, no kids, so she isn’t romantically minded. She actually is unable to be lovey and flirty at all. She explained this to me on one of our dates. I understand. This tells me that I can either remove her armor or simply be the man who opens her up.
“I’m not a player” she says.
I ask her to explain. Mary says that she’s not used to being in the game anymore. “It takes me a long time to warm up.”
“There are other ways to warm you up, Mary.” I smile, and look away.
It’s all very interesting to me how I am now. I want her, but if I never saw her again, I’d be just fine. I see me in her apartment, watching movies with her and us kissing, and then me taking her. This is new to me. I normally have spent my life with younger women. Maybe now that I’m spending time with some of these older women, the scale has shifted, and now I’m the jewel.
I tell her that we should go to Doobies (awesome dive bar) and get some cheap drinks and food and catch up. She agrees. I tell her I’ve never left a restaurant because of a delayed or failed client. She says, “Tell them you were here and had to go meet other clients. It’ll put you in a position of strength. They were late or cancelled, and you were here on time. You were on point. They blew it. Now they owe you.”
I leave and head over to 17th and Market. I was supposed to have eaten lunch an hour ago. I head for my favorite hot dog street cart. I’m done with this chick. I order a grilled dog from the cart. I go for the brown mustard of course. I don’t need a bag. I’m going to ram that burnt crispy dog into my open maw like a baby Caiman.
I decide before my two afternoon appointments that have now been compromised by this silly, scatterbrained girl, I’ll stop over at the salon and commiserate with my partner, Achilles. I get there and rage out on how frustrated I am with these idiots. He agrees and comes back full force. We’re a good team.
Then this text comes in when I am at the salon. Remember, I got there at 12:45 for our 1pm lunch. It is now 2pm.
Her: Hey I’m here a cross. What is the restaurant. Name. I’m calling you. I’m here. Hi. Are you still here. Are you. Still here.
Me: I left
Her: Pls. Reply. Still here.
Me: Are you really there?
Her: Yes. Misconduct tavern. ? I’m here. Where are you
Me: Ok. On my way.
I jump in a taxi and head back to the restaurant. At this point I’m just doing it for the blog.
Her: I cannot.
Me: Cannot what?
Her: Use. The phone. To call now. I cannot. I was using. Someone. Phone. Ok.
Me: I’ll be there in 2 minutes
Her: K. I’m in restroo
I walk back into the restaurant
Me: Ok. I’m at the table.
Tune in tomorrow for the crazy conclusion!
Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday at 9am EST.
Instagram: @phicklephilly Facebook: Phicklephilly