I got stood up today. I was going to lunch at 12:30 at a restaurant near my house that has a kickass ahi salad.It was a business lunch and anyone with small children and no real “outside of the house” work to speak of would understand the excitment I felt at needing to be somewhere at a certain time to meet a person who would more than likely be paying for my meal.
In my anticipation of being out in public, I slapped on some whore paint and left the sweats on the bedroom floor opting for a pair of minimally dirty black pants instead. I had something to do from 10:30 to 11:30 which involved talking about not drinking with a group of other people who love to talk about not drinking and then I headed straight over. I had an insanely bad migraine though so I stopped by my house where my husband met me in the driveway with some Imitrex and a glass of water (as if I were running a marathon and was there to cheer me along my route) and still I still made it through the front doors of the Coral Tree Cafe (did I mention they have an insanely delightful ahi salad?) with two minutes to spare.
My date was not there yet. No big deal I thought. I’ll just sidle up to the counter area and pretend to read a magazine for a few minutes. I flipped though an entire LA Weeky, glancing up every twenty seconds for my date until I finally got to the ads for sex phone lines on the back page. I looked at my watch; seven minutes had passed.
I was already starting to miss my sweatpants and I’d only been out of the house an hour and a half. I knew I was going to have to work up more endurance for social situations. I want to be the Tiger Woods of lunching. Wait…
I burned off another ten minutes fidgeting with my Blackberry and then another five studying the menu from a seat at a table even though I already knew I’d be getting that damn salad (It’s ahi. Seared. Ginger garlic dressing.)
If a person is over fifteen minutes late and another person is really hungry it seems acceptable for the hungry, not late person to go ahead and order right? So I ordered my salad and diet Coke and then sat back down and attempted to look normal and non-stood up while trying to avoid the pitying glances I was positive I was getting. (Yes I know that no one gave a shit what I was doing but I still felt self conscious)
At this point it was pretty clear that I was getting stood up and I didn’t have my date’s phone number or email address on me. I decided to call my husband because a) it helped me look busy and b) he’s great in a crisis. “If someone is driving from the Pacific Palisades to Encino how much leeway do I need to give them before I get the hell out of here?” I asked him. “Oh, and factor in my headache please.”
“Thirty-five minutes.” he answered immediately. I know. He’s really smart. He should work for some sort of crisis hot line. Or do underwear ads. Either way.
This left me with ten minutes to wait. I spent five more minutes idly sipping my soda, mentally shoe shopping based on what other people were wearing and comparing my twins’ temperament to the badly behaved toddlers running around (full disclosure: my twins have never been to a restaurant). Finally I went to the counter and asked if they could change my order to go and went home, stripped and watched a 20/20 about a guy who poisoned his wife with antifreeze hidden in Gatorade until my headache went away.
So, turns out that my lunch date got confused on the time and showed up at noon waiting 28 min and left. We rescheduled for Monday the 18th. I’ve already chosen an outfit.