In the span of three hours, I have experienced every emotion. Maybe not EVERY one, but a lot of them. Some of those emotions were in rapid succession, some were a more leisurely pace. Where should I start....
I got stood up. I wasted time, gasoline, pride and perfectly good makeup in one fell swoop.
I should have known when traffic wasn't too bad that something was amiss. The restaurant was in a Hyatt and part was being renovated. Not too many tables near the bar to begin with and the choice was between the two tables on either side of the doors leading to their outdoor seating. The risk of drinking alcohol and having my face turn brighter than my dress was daunting. I opted for iced tea.
The first few minutes weren't too bad. I was able to watch the river, people walking, a few boats and a jet ski or two. It gave me time to decompress from driving and focus on avoiding a clammy handshake.
6:20- I checked the time on my phone. At that precise moment, the speed of time slowed down and I think there were actual instances that time stood still. I think of possible reasons for being late. Traffic is second on the list of forgivable reasons for being late. First on the list is death. And only personal death. I'm not wishing him dead, just acknowledging that I wouldn't hold this lateness against him if he were dead. My new focus is resisting the urge to check the time on my phone obsessively.
6:26- I now start to consider the possibility that he is isn't going to show up. It's still possible that he will show up and it will give me an opportunity to show how easy going I am. Mentally, I practice what breezy statement I will make about being so late. "Oh, everyone gets stuck in traffic." "Really, I didn't mind waiting. It's such a nice night." "I'm glad you stopped to save those puppies from that burning building."
6:31- I now am starting to calculate exactly how long I wait until I face the fact. Half an hour isn't exactly enough time. This reminds me of waiting for the professor in college. The legends, how long you needed to wait and the variables based on if that person was a full professor, or an associate professor, entertain me. That entertainment lasts about nineteen seconds.
6:38- I debate asking the hostess for her advice how much longer I stay. Then I realize she probably has never been stood up so how would she be able to answer my question. My focus has shifted again to the phone conversation that will occur on Monday with my Dating Coordinator. I'm considering changing her title. She's not deserving of the a title including the word dating.
6:43- Reality has set in. Now I have to decide if I get something to eat and endure sitting even longer by myself with an extra place setting at the table. The place setting would surely mock me. The menu isn't fabulous so I decide to gather my pride and leave.
6:48- I feel the need to remove any remnant of said pride by asking my waiter to check if any phone messages were left with the hostess. I feel sorry for this guy who has to walk the length of the bar with a straight face only to tell me there were no phone messages. I ask for the check for my iced tea and he says not to worry about it. The descent to hell begins here.
To get back to my car, I have to walk across the lobby of the hotel, take an elevator down to the garage, walk along a corridor and take a different elevator to level 4. By the time I got to my car, I have experienced anger, disappointment, sadness, frustration, pathetic loser-ness, and more anger. Luckily the welling tears were reserved for the short elevator ride to the garage. I blame Carrie Bradshaw. I episode where she gets stood up on a blind date flashed through my brain. More specifically, the part where she said (excuse me while I paraphrase) 'unless he took one look at me and got the hell out of there'. But I know that couldn't have been the case. My dress was pre-approved and my friends accessorized me with a necklace and great black purse. That only leaves one other option. He better be dead.
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