No Texting
“Perhaps I’ll change some as I get older but it seems to me that life (and I wonder how closely it parallels the experience of other men) is a long gray depression interrupted by moments of high hilarity.”
October 28, 2008
Brian and I had plans for last night, but when I called him in the morning to figure out what we were going to do, he cancelled. He had overextended himself — literally. "Dude, I fucked up my back. I'm lying down right now, and it's all I can do. I can't walk, I can't sit."
It seems he's been doing a lot of sitting lately, working on his book — or maybe one of his screenplays, I'm not sure. In any case, he's been sitting at his desk in an old wooden chair designed way before the concept of ergonomics. That alone was probably enough to cause trouble, but to make matters worse, it dawned on him that he had been so caught up in his writing that he'd been neglecting his Yoga routine. It seems he went overboard trying to make up for lost time. And yesterday, the day after Yoga, he felt about as flexible as a dried twig.
If we didn't get together that night, our schedules wouldn't sync up again for at least another week. "Why don't we play it by ear?" I told him. "Move around a little, see how you feel later in the day. Maybe you'll loosen up."
"Maybe. I know I'll be fine in a couple of days. I'm not one of those people with chronic back trouble or anything; I just stretched it too far. But right now...fuck."
It was the second time Brian had to cancel on me. The last time it was because of a date that suddenly popped up. "I'll tell you all about it when I see you," he had said. But since he didn't sound optimistic about his back getting better by the end of the day, I asked him to fill me in while I had him on the phone.
"Oh dude," he said.
"Not good?"
"You know me. There are three things I don't tolerate: Tattoos, cigarettes, and texting."
"How about cigars, pipes, or chewing tobacco?" I asked.
“Okay, right, make that tobacco use across the board."
"Right. The three T's. Anyway, go on. What was the deal with her? Did she smoke?" I asked, figuring that was probably the number one T on his list.
"I don't know. I don't think so. I never met her."
"It was a blind date?"
"Yeah, my friend Tom set me up with her. One of those chicks who's always complaining she can't find any nice guys. Same old story, right? She's Tom's wife's hairdresser."
"A hairdresser?" I said. "What the hell is wrong with you? That's one of the top three occupations to avoid when dating."
"Is it?"
"Totally. I forgot what they are. Food and beverage servers are one, which includes waitresses, bartenders, and stewardesses. And I'm pretty sure hairdresser is another. I forgot the order."
"Strippers?"
"I don't think they were on the list. I guess that one goes without saying."
"Investment bankers?" said Brian.
"I'm fairly certain that one is not on the list."
"Well, that's my list: strippers, bartenders, and investment bankers."
"Have you ever dated an investment banker?" I asked.
"Of course not. They're on my list."
"Okay, so what about this hairdresser? Do you have any idea what she looks like?" I asked.
"All I've been told is that she's tall, thin, and has a nice rack, but I think she must be pretty hot. Tom knows I have high standards -- although I have to admit those standards have loosened considerably in recent years, and continue to loosen day by day."
"So what happened?"
"Okay, so the first time we spoke to set up the date, I told her, 'I don't text. If you want to talk to me, call me. If you text me, I won't respond.' She laughs and says Okay, no problem. 'I'm serious,' I said. So what does she do? About three o'clock in the afternoon, she sent me a text: My day is looking busy. Might have to reschedule'"
"And was that it? You didn't respond?"
"I did. I broke down and sent her a text. I said: Call me."
"Did she?"
"No. I wound up calling her a couple of hours later. She said she really wants to get together, but that it's not a good day."
"Did you reschedule?"
"No."
"So now what?"
"Who knows," he said. I could hear him groan slightly as he moved about his apartment. "Dude, I hate texting. I really hate it."
