Thursday, February 12, 2004

What is the point of having a cellphone, and waiting an hour after an appointment to call and say "gee, I'm running late"? You see, at 3pm, while you were having make-up sex with your ex-boyfriend, or chatting with another potential roommate in more-fashionable Chelsea, or whatever-the-fuck you were doing - you already knew you couldn't be here for your 3pm appointment. That's when you call and say you're running late. But hell, its 4pm, why not try.

So I get the call, accept his apology, he still wants to see the place, and I ask what his schedule is like for the rest of the afternoon. "I'm 10 minutes away." OK, fine, see you in 10 minutes. So I get back to the computer instant-messaging with a pal. 15 minutes later I'm thinking, this sucks, I hate waiting; but hell, don't get all worked up, its only 5 minutes (more) late. My pal jokes with me about how the guy should blow me if he wants the share, blah blah. 20 minutes. C'mon - the guy says he's lived in the East Village for 4 years, he can't be lost! 30 minutes. I tell my pal I gotta run to the post office, I'll talk to him later. I dress, turn the computer off, go downstairs, hop on the bike and head down the road. I spot a gay-looking stranger turning the corner from Avenue C on to my block - but I keep going. At the post office, I wait in line for a package, then head back home. Yup, waiting outside is the same guy I spotted. As my bike hops up on the curb, passing him, he addresses me. I continue, lock up my bike, and walk back over to him. He introduces himself, and I say "sorry, pal, not gonna work - I waited another 30 minutes for you; not twice in one day - not gonna work." He attempts another apology, I turn to unlock the front door, he says he understands (yeah, right), and I go inside, alone.

And to my pal I was instant-messaging to: nope, a blowjob from that guy wouldn't have helped.