After a work meeting today (yes, occasionally I do real person things…just in a way that is mostly retarded), a couple of my colleagues and I were having lunch at California Pizza Kitchen. Whoa, whoa, don’t judge me. Actually, judge away. It felt like having lunch in an airport. In fact, one of my fellow diners remarked that there are in fact CPKs (respect my insider lingo) is airports. Awesome! Maybe they should incorporate that into their marketing scheme. They could do something like, “California Pizza Kitchen: Remember us from the airport? Huh? Do ya?” Genius. Clearly I missed my calling.
There were three of us in a mixed party, so when we first got to our table there was that awkward, brief moment of milling around while each of us waited for the other to sit down so the others could figure out their seats accordingly. You know, that instantaneous sort of lingering where it’s clear the people in the group don’t know enough about the group dynamic to immediately know where to sit down, so they all kind of stand there dumbly beside the booth until the log jam works itself out like self-directing traffic? No, you don’t know? I’m the only person who makes these kinds of observations? Well, looks like I’m the asshole.
At any rate, I happened to get to the table last, so I got the benefit of choosing last. I chose to sit next to the female of the group, but only because I’m really insecure about my sexuality. Seriously, I’m not gay. Not that it would be a problem if I am. But I’m not. Probably.
As I was waiting for my Mediterranean plate — which I soon discovered was really just a handful of bird food cleverly disguised by hummus — the girl I’m sitting next to gets a text. (Pause: did I just defend my sexuality immediately before disclosing that I ordered something called the “Mediterranean plate”? OK, I might be gay.) After reading, she asks the table, “How is it that every date I’ve had in the last like 2 months gets canceled?” She then went on to tell us that the dude (like how I use the terms “girl” and “dude”? I’m perpetually trapped in my middle school years) she was supposed to see tonight begged off, using the excuse “I have a basketball game and also I’m sick.”
I’m going to repeat that, because it bears repeating. Actually, I’m not going to repeat it. Just go back and read it again. Stop being lazy. I’ll wait. Done? Thank you for joining the rest of the class.
Seriously, though, what kind of excuse is that? He has a sporting event to participate in AND he’s too ill to leave his house? Is the game in his house? Does he plan on being well enough to play basketball but not to, like, have a drink? I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS. I honestly advise you not to try to make sense of that text, as the heat from your brain may cause your face to melt right off your skull, and I just can’t have that on my conscience. Not after that time in Tallahassee…
And who are these dudes who are able to just turn down dates with attractive girls all willy-nilly? Not that I’m desperate or anything (read: I am), but I can’t even calculate the number of girls I would have to have throwing themselves at me before I was able to say, “you know what? Nah, not worth my effort to go out with this one. I’ll just go with the old sick/basketball excuse. Works every time.” I think I would have to be bleeding from my ears and/or about to suit up for
the Lakers the Knicks the Celtics whatever team is good as you happen to be reading this in order to use an excuse that ignorant. I feel like an illiterate person could have composed a better text message. (Note to self: get an illiterate person to write blog posts. You suck.)
After lunch, we walked out of the
terminal Cinnabon California Pizza Kitchen and back into the light of day, and I continued to wonder: how the FUCK does that place charge $4.29 for a handful of bird food?